


Confession

by ErosandPsyche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Religious, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Talks Dirty, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Priest Castiel, Priest Gabriel, Priest Kink, Religion Kink, Rimming, Serial Killer Dean, Sexual Tension, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErosandPsyche/pseuds/ErosandPsyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bless me, Father, for I'm about to sin."</p><p>Father Castiel hears a confession he never hoped to; murder. He has yet to realize that Dean did not come to cleanse his immortal soul.</p><p>Dean Winchester is fixated on the priest and makes no pretense of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Bless me, Father, for I’m about to sin.”

Castiel sat on the padded seat in the confessional, studying at the engravings on the wood door. His fingers ran over the rosary over his other hand, hours of staring at the same point numbing him.

Perhaps that’s why he missed the oddity of the words. He looked at the clover-cross lattice between the confessor and himself, but all he could see were slats.

“I think you misspoke.”

“Did I?” The voice on the other side was most definitely male, a bit jagged and mostly amused. “This is my first time.”

Castiel didn’t usually get first-timers. He had only been at Archangel St. Raphael’s church for the past two years and, on average, spent three sessions a week in the confession booth.

He received all the people who were ashamed of admitting the same old sins to the same old person every time visited him when their guilt became too great.

He didn’t mean to think that quite so bitterly.

It was a part of sacrament, and that made it part of his duties. “I understand. Did you cross yourself beginning?”

“Cross myself? I only cross other people as a matter of habit.”

Castiel slanted a glance at the lattice, even knowing he could be seen and could not see past it. “The sign of the cross. Have you ever attended Mass before?”

“Yes.”

“Did you notice that others would touch their forehead, sternum, then the left and right shoulder?”

“Yeah.” The man sounded close, as if he were pressing his cheek against the barrier. He was not whispering though. “I didn’t know. So I should do that first?”

“Yes. Use your right hand.” Castiel did have to wonder how long this confession would take. If the man had no idea what was going on, it could be a while.

But isn’t that what he had been asking for in prayer? Someone who has turned to God outside of obedience, for this was definitely a grown man, and was searching for answers.

“I did it. Now I say the part about sinning?”

“Yes, but it’s proper to confess sins you have already committed.”

Castiel had come to categorize sinners by two types; sinkers and swimmers. The sinkers were the whisperers, the mumblers with the same harm each time. The swimmers seemed to move on to new mundane things, coveting a pretty person outside their marriage, lying about being sick to their boss.

It was a large parish for a relatively middling-sized town on the outskirts of the city. It was just as much community as worship that kept the seats filled.

And as much as he racked his brain, Castiel could not place a face to this man with his husky voice.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Is that better?”

“Yes. Normally you would tell me the last time you have confessed, but that will be done next time. But you can tell me what your sin was and how often it has happened. If you can’t remember the exact number, say several or many times over the number of years it happened. But in the future, be exact.”

Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he had to explain the process. The priest of the church he grew up was very strict about how many times. He always said, count your sins _._ That was his favorite mantra.

Castiel wasn’t going to hound a new penitent for information he wouldn’t have.

He hadn’t realized how repetitive this all had become. Not to mention the number of people coming into confession had dwindled significantly from when he attended church as a boy. He wasn’t the only Father that had noticed there were no longer lines outside the booths.

“Do I really have to say Father? I’m not kinky like that. Your name is Castiel, right?”

“It is Castiel. If it makes you comfortable…” That wasn’t the first thing he’d remember in hindsight, but it wasn’t the last either.

“Should I start from my very first sin? I think I stole bubblegum from the corner store and got my ass beat raw.” He chuckled darkly. Then a soft tapping sound on the lattice startled Castiel. “Can you see me through here, Cas?”

“No. It’s designed to give you reasonable anonymity.”

“What happens if someone wants to be seen?”

“We have a confessional room with a narrow screen. One can sit behind it if they wish, but there’s more than enough room to sit face-to-face as well.” He almost preferred those, because the sinkers never suggested it.

“I can see you now.”

“Yes.” A trickle of unease ran down his spine. The old-fashioned booth was updated to block sound from both sides, logically he knew they weren’t alone. But the silence was thick and the isolation uncomfortable at the moment. “You start with the worst sins.”

“Ahh,” came the breathy laugh. “So I end with the best sins?”

Castiel allowed an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth on the unseen side of his face. “Standard practice is to begin with the ones you have the most difficulty speaking of. You can cover the mortal sins, and decide for yourself if you must speak on the venial sins as well.”

“What’s a mortal sin?”

This was a subject Castiel was still passionate about, even after sitting and listening to many, many people pour out their vices. “Any so bad that it can destroy the grace of your soul if left to fester. Begin with the ten commandments. A man may blaspheme in shock or anger, and that is a venial sin. But if he does so often and willingly, knowing how wrong it is, then that has is damaging his immortal soul.”

“That’s deep. Okay, I take the Lord’s name in vain several times a week. Is that a good start?” The words rolled so easily off his tongue, as if this was a simple recitation the rules of a game.

He leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees. “If I may ask, do you feel sorry for doing that?” Castiel tried to word it delicately, using his most neutral tone.

“No.” And the response was simple. He could have said it the same if Castiel queried about the weather.

The small space felt stifling. Castiel could only hear himself and the slow breaths of the person next to him. “I have a follow up question,” he said slowly.

“Is it, why am I here?”

“Yes.” He did wonder now. The other man didn’t sound unintelligent or defiant, but rather curious and thoughtful. Like this was all a puzzle that was a bit funny and challenging.

A memory came up of last Sunday Mass, on that Father Gabriel led. In the back had sat several new people. On the right was an older man, which he doubted was sitting beside him now.

To the far left were three men he did not recognize. One listened eagerly the whole time, a fresh-faced teenager. The other two were mature, late twenties or early thirties perhaps. One of the men had wavy hair to his shoulder, and the other had light brown hair cropped to about an inch or two.

The one with short hair was dressed rough, jeans and a plaid shirt. When he wasn’t speaking to his brothers he sat with crossed arms and the clear look of someone who did not want to be there.

The other was not nearly as earnest as the boy, but at least he listened, smiling in some places and wondering attention at others. The attitude of this penitent fit the longer haired man more.

But the voice, the hoarse and masculine voice, that made him think of the unimpressed male with the strong jaw and air of restless energy.

“Because of you.” For the first time the other man dropped his tone lower, hushed and intimate.

“You wanted me to give you Absolution?” He deliberately nudged aside the most obvious meaning there. Sometimes confessions contained subtle propositions, usually starting with speaking of unnatural desire or lust.

“I wanted you to forgive me.”

Castiel licked his lips, glancing at the thin barrier between them.

“Have you been baptized?” It was so rare he had someone wander into a booth without any sort of idea how this worked, he simply assumed that the man was a complete layman.

It was silent. If Castiel couldn’t hear the soft, measured breaths from the holes in the panel between them, he would have thought he was alone.

“No, not that I can remember. I never thought to ask my parents if they used to believe in all this.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, figuring that he should have known and this extended conversation was his fault. “I’m afraid I can’t give you Absolution.”

“But can _you_ forgive me?”

“Absolution is to wipe away your sins in the eyes of God in accordance with your repentance. If you are truly sorry, forgiveness comes from the Sacrament I bestow and not myself.”

“I feel like you’re talking Greek, or Latin, as it were. I want yours, nobody else."

Castiel found himself rubbing the beads of his rosary again, partially from nerves. “Why my forgiveness? Have you wronged me?” It was supposed to be a light-hearted comment, but Castiel remembered exactly what he said first. ‘I am about to sin’. Had they sat there so long the church might be next-to-empty?

The voice returned to its normal low level. “Because you’re real, Cas. I crave another actual person to look at me, so that I know I’m real.”

The last thing Castiel wanted to do right now was be in an open space with him right now. “I’m going to pass you several pamphlets on confession and other processes. Is that fine?”

“How? Does this thing open?” He tapped on the lattice.

“No, there is a wood slot beneath that just for this purpose.” Castiel reached for the small stack of papers next to his other thigh, realizing how badly his fingers were shaking when he almost dropped the whole pile.

“Do I have to keep my name to myself?”

“That’s up to you entirely. You may continue to be anonymous.” In fact, Castiel would prefer that right now. He didn’t want to know, he’d prefer to let his eye pass over whoever was in there.

“Naw. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, I just forgot. I’m Dean.”

Even though Castiel stood up at the podium regularly and was well-known, he felt it remiss to not return the introduction. “Father Castiel Novak.”

“This slot is neat. It’s pretty big too.” Dean opened the door, closed it, and opened it again.

“Here.” Castiel got himself under control and slid the paper through quickly.

“I think your hand would fit in here easily.”

He didn’t say anything. He had actually held the hand of people as they struggled through the unburdening, but this wasn’t one of those cases.

“C’mon. I just want to feel someone else who’s real. I promise, no clothes will be taken off and I have no weapons. Your hand is as safe as whore in a convent.”

Castiel looked all around at the wooden walls and the door, then slowly at the lattice again. He placed his palm on the small divider just under the panel.

Even though he should’ve been expecting it, the warm brush of fingers against his sent a shock up his arm. As said though, nothing more was done than pet the back of his hand slowly.

“You have really blue eyes. Can you look at the screen?” Now his voice dropped low again.

Against all his finer minded instincts, Castiel turned his head and leaned close to the holes angled so he couldn’t see past them. He stared at nothing and waited.

The thumb brushing the back of his hand pressed into the wide parts of his palm, massaging slowly while it was drawn in deeper and lifted. It wasn’t an uncomfortable angle, he was already sitting close enough it simply took moving his arm forward.

Dean slid Castiel’s fingers against his mouth, the touch of breath skimming off the skin. “I came to confess just to you.” The hot heat of a mouth enveloped the tip of one finger, Dean’s tongue smoothing over the pad. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“I can’t.” Castiel rasped out, wondering why he was just sitting there and not jerking his hand away. But a part of him knew why as his eyes closed, the swipe of tongue leaving a tingling line to his second knuckle.

Dean made a sound in the back of his throat, vibrating through his lips. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else like me when we came here. And it’s okay if you don’t forgive me yet. You will.”

A shudder worked through Castiel, starting at the back of his neck and working down his spine. The jagged intimacy of the voice left him hot and, shamefully, starting to get aroused. It wasn’t right.

Still he said nothing.

Dean moved the top of his middle finger into his mouth, scalding the skin with a hard suck. “I’ve taken several lives in the past year.”

Castiel froze.

“Taken is such a simple term, don’t you think Cas? My brother’s good with words, not me. Stolen, ripped, wrestled to the ground and stabbed until there was blood in my mouth. Blood everywhere.”

Dean spoke low and conversational, certain words slightly garbled as his tongue and teeth brushed around the tips of Castiel’s fingers.

Castiel felt his own blood rushing loudly in his head, taking short breaths quietly as possible. He had always considered the possibility he may hear such a confession, but not quite like this.

He enveloped both fingers in his mouth, tongue darting in between and swirling around slowly. “I like the taste of you. Clean.”

Castiel licked his very dry lips, heart pounding with fear and other darker things. “Why did you commit murder?”

“Hmm,” he came off the finger with a wet pop. “Self defense.”

Castiel let out a breath of relief.

“Does it matter why?”

He desperately tried to gather his thoughts. “Intent matters, even to the Lord. It is my normally my duty to offer counsel.” He couldn’t help the intake of air when Dean grazed his teeth along the skin and plied it with the flat of his tongue.

It was absolutely wrong. But desire had already left his other hand clenched tightly on his thigh.

“Should I keep count next time?”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer that.

“How would you counsel me?”

Despite the other man’s amusement, Castiel closed his eyes very tightly, and focused. “I would suggest avoiding the circumstances that led to the deaths. Also, if the...deaths are a matter of unresolved legality, that should be taken care of. If not, then perhaps their family has lingering issues and could use assistance.”

Dean didn’t say anything to that for a long time.

“I like watching your face when you’re getting hot.”

Castiel felt himself color up. Worse still, his fingers twitched when the cool air hit them, as if he were beckoning.

Chuckling, Dean sucked them back deep in his mouth with an amused mumble that sounded a lot like “ _greedy”_. After plying them with wet strokes until spit was leaking down his palm, Dean drew Castiel’s hand down his shirt. “We were talking about forgiving me?”

Castiel felt his hand being lowered. He did nothing as his wet palm stroked the rough folds of jeans, the zipper scraping lightly between his fingers. It felt nearly as hot as inside Dean’s mouth, but this, this made Dean groan.

It made it hard to breathe. “You...were being hurt. A man can defend his own life.”

“I didn’t mean I was the one being hurt, sorry,” Dean murmured, lifting Castiel’s hand and wetting the palm with his tongue. “Next time, Cas, should I confess this?”

Then he placed Castiel’s hand back on the wood ledge of the barrier and stopped touching him altogether.

Castiel didn’t know what to do for several long seconds. He didn’t have an answer at first and then it stopped mattering. The door had creaked open and shut carelessly with a crack.

He was alone.

Castiel didn’t move for a long time, staring at the dampness shining in the wan light on his fingers and palm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we follow; is where angels fear to tread.

Castiel considered himself a well-read observer of human nature. What gaps he had as a child and adolescent were filled clinically in by Moral Theology courses. 

He had learned about acts that were considered sinful and acts that weren’t. Before he even stood in a pulpit or entered confession, there was no sin that could shock him. Disturb or concern him, yes, but there were no new perversions under the sun.

“Are you going to read that?” 

Castiel looked up at the second diocesan priest, Father Gabriel. He was average height with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes, sporting an expressive face under most circumstances. He did sermons every Saturday, Sunday morning, and three days a week.

Castiel was the parochial vicar, supporting two priests in all. Gabriel was the one he liked the least, because he was, for lack of a better term, the most irreverent.

“No.” He pushed the newspaper toward Gabriel, taking a drink of his hot black coffee.

“Thanks.” Gabriel grabbed it then poured himself a cup of coffee. Or, more aptly, splashed some coffee in a mug before liberally adding cream and heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

He said nothing as the other priest took a seat and opened up the paper. 

“I think it’s always good to keep up on the news, don’t you?” 

“I often forget to read the paper.” Castiel admitted as his hopes for a peaceful hour before Mass dwindled. It wasn’t his day to lead the service, but he would attend.

Gabriel rustled the paper like it personally offended him, keeping it tilted up instead of lying it flat even though there was plenty of room on the table.

Despite the noise and the company, Castiel found his attention wandering back to events that were better off left alone. 

“Father?”

“You can call me Gabe, you know.”

Castiel looked skyward for a moment. “Have you ever encountered a non-Catholic in the confessional booth?”

Gabriel looked at him fully, one eyebrow lifting far up. “Once, but the guy was drunk and looking for a place to sleep. Or urinate, by the smell of it.”

His nose wrinkled, hoping the Cleaning Committee thoroughly scrubbed everything afterward. “I did. I had to tell him that I couldn’t grant him Absolution without being baptized first.”

“Sounds about right,” Gabe shrugged, taking a long quaff of his coffee-flavored creamer. “Did you hand him any pamphlets?”

For the life of him, Castiel could not remember if he had. All he could think of was sliding his empty hand through the slot, the edge bumping his wrist as he did so. The rest didn’t bear thinking about.

Though he did.

“Only the parts on confessional. I explained to him the process. Should I have encouraged him to join the church?” That’s not what he wanted to ask at all, but the right words eluded him at the moment.

Gabriel looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. Was he weird?”

Castiel honestly had no answer to that, which was happening often lately.

“Well, you’d know best, Castiel. Don’t ask ol’ Crowley though. He’d have me holding that bum’s dick to help him pee if he thought there was money in it.”

Castiel coughed while trying to drain the last of his coffee, covering his mouth to keep from sputtering it all over.

“I better go make sure the singer is here. Voice like an angel but she is  _ never _ not drunk. See you.” Gabriel folded the paper back up sloppily and left it on the table.

Castiel sent a cross look at the paper, knowing full well that he’d be the one to throw it away, and clean the mug too. He paused with hand dangling over the cheap paper printed with cheap ink. 

As a child he had enjoyed pressing putty over the colored bits and gazing at the copy when it was peeled back. 

Sliding the paper in front of him, he began to read. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t searching for any bold headlines proclaiming local murder or gruesome hacked up body found. 

Nothing sprang out at him.

Then again, Dean had said over the past year, it could have happened at any point. 

Even thinking the name brought back sharp memories; the underlying scent of old wood and cleaning solvents, the worn siding and the top barrier pressing into the crook of his elbow.

He closed the newspaper and threw it in the trash on the way to the sanctuary. 

The daily Mass of Wednesday was shorter than average. But as he closed his eyes and listened to the first reading, certain parts of the verse rung out to him. ‘The Lord’s hand was with them, and a great number of people believed and turned to the Lord.’

Would it be the sin of vanity to think that the scriptures today, speaking about having work set aside and bringing people to the church, might apply to him? He was no Barnabas or Saul, but many people enjoyed speaking with him after sermons and asked him to bless their personal items. 

Perhaps the young man was lost, very lost, especially after the trauma of having to defend someone unto death. He thought of the plaid-wearing man in the back surrounded by the two, more attentive guests. Small details came back to him the more he thought about it.

The man had had several days of stubble on his cheeks and the old shirt he wore stretched over broad shoulders. With symmetrical features, a strong jaw, and a noticeably full mouth, he could certainly be considered good-looking.

Not that Castiel was in the habit of judging whether  _ he _ found a person attractive, but he could tell when one was aesthetically pleasing.

Yet he couldn’t recall the features of the other two quite so well.

The Gospel contained his favorite verses and he murmured them to himself as Father Gabriel did. ‘Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received; freely give.’

Yes, that’s what he needed. A reminder that his Calling was to bring others to the Holy Grace of the Father. He carried that conviction as he solemnly shook hands of those who came to the Wednesday Mass, the most popular day of the Week. 

Later when Gabriel disappeared into the booths, Castiel kept glancing that way. Very few disappeared inside, and the last chose to relocate to the confessional room.

He walked to the secluded gardens in the back to prop the Breviary in his lap and recite the Liturgy of the Hours. He decided he would begin fasting the next day, adding extra calories to his evening meal.

Everything went perfectly fine until he unclothed for bed. When he first arrived, it had taken him weeks to get used to the largeness of the room in the church compared to the one he slept in at the monastery. For sleep he simply wore an undershirt and boxers, which also had taken some getting used to.

Climbing onto the bed he stared at the ceiling, strangely not tired after the long day. He had lain awake the night before as well. 

Castiel touched his mouth, feeling the chapped skin and softness. It was different touching his own skin than someone else’s. He couldn’t erase the dual feeling of touch on his lip and touch on his finger.

Even when he drew the tip of his middle finger inside to rest between his teeth, some disgusting and sinful part of him wanted to recapture the hot stamp of lips and tongue. 

He yanked his hand away from his face, wiped it on his pillow, and kept his arms at his sides until he went to sleep.

  
  
  


Dean sat on the park bench alone, his right ankle crossed over his knee and enjoying the cool weather. He preferred to be outside most of the time.

Driving in his car counted as being outside. Anywhere counted that wasn’t work or home. Home wasn’t bad or anything, even if only his youngest brother lived there now. 

He just hated being in enclosed spaces.

There was an older lady throwing a frisbee to her dog, a white Australian Shepherd. It was a real beauty. Sam, his younger brother, had three dogs now that he had his own house.

A middle-aged couple walked down the path and around the lake. The wife clearly made the trip more than him, but the sweaty, out-of-breath husband still stared at her with a goofy smile when their eyes met.

Several mothers had brought their children to the playground. He didn’t watch them, because he was a lone man in a park. Buying a dog would help facilitate his people watching, but he was still young and quite good looking. It shouldn’t become a necessity until he was in his late forties, when being unmarried and childless became suspect.

For now it was enough to enjoy the scenery while Adam was at home finishing his homework. The kid wasn’t really a kid anymore, he was attending college paid out of the savings account that was once set aside for Sammy.

That brother had gotten himself a scholarship. 

Not that he held it against Adam, who came by his struggles in school honestly in having to study twice as much just to keep from failing. Dean was the same, and so had their father been.

Dean closed his eyes and willed the curl of anger growing inside to calm down. This was the place where he came to take in the peace so it would last through the night.

When he opened his eyes again the church across the park caught his eye, a white blob in the distance. It had remained blurry to him until Saturday when Adam had successfully convinced Sam to just go to one Mass with him. 

Dean didn’t want to encourage this crazy idea Adam had about attending a Seminary after college. He didn’t want the kid to become some sexless, joyless, walking and talking Bible. 

But when Sam agreed he had to.

That was when Dean saw Him.

Not God, but a priest kneeling at the front with the rest of the people. At first he could only see the priest’s messy black hair from behind, which had struck him as funny. Otherwise, the priest was in all snug black from wrist to neck to ankles, only the white collar around the front of his neck.  

It was all very neat and somber, except that hair. It wasn’t cowlicks either, he stared long enough to tell it was just finger-wrecked.

For the rest of the talking and singing he watched this guy stand properly, sitting upright, then kneeling in clear obedience to his God.

So Dean came Tuesday on a whim for the last five minutes of the morning session. He stayed all the way to the back, just staring at the priest the whole time.

His name was Father Castiel. He still had the messy hair on Wednesday, but his whole attention was caught by those blue eyes. 

They were so intense and genuine, he clearly believed every word he said to the small crowd scattered around the pupils. Nobody was asleep.

Dean watched him talk to several people before departing to that odd triple-chambered wood booth. He figured it was confessional, but it didn’t look the same as it did in movies.

Since nobody else walked up to it, Dean did.

He didn’t regret what he said or did in there. Without knowing the proper rules he was supposed to follow, it was unlikely he wouldn’t make a mistake. But since no alarm was raised and no word of censure came, he figured there was no cause for regret.

Dean lived life by the rules. He knew how to talk to most of the bodies moving around. That’s how he already knew what days the priest left the pews to stand in front of the pulpit instead.

Dean checked his watch. It was time for court-mandated Anger Management classes. 

Because, well, he didn’t always follow the rules.

The class was held in a failing bakery that always had old donuts and coffee. Sometimes they had pie though. He was five minutes early and took a seat right in the middle. Not so close he looked eager, not so far back it was resentful.

The class was ran by Father Crowley, which is probably what set Adam on his path of idealistic joy.  _ They make a difference! _ he could still hear his littlest brother’s voice pipe up in some holy-crush. Dean thought maybe Adam needed to attend a class or two before making that decision.

Crowley called everyone friend and bored the pants off everyone for thirty minutes. Maybe it was on purpose, a lot of bodies got mad when they didn’t feel stimulated enough.

Not Dean, he could sit and listen to the smug accent drone on all evening. He just stared at the man and thought of other things. 

Today he sat and thought of licking the clean skin of Crowley’s blue-eyed priest.

It was Meg’s turn to get up and speak. As she stood on the little box, she directed a stare at Crowley’s back in a moment of rage. It barely smoothed over as she began to speak.

“Hi. I’m Meg. I get angry.” 

Her hands were curled at her sides. She was a thin-boned woman, barely out of her teenage years but seeming older. Dean knew a lot about her because she had to speak every other session. And rumour had it she had been held back from getting signed off on completion for over a year.

Dean wondered if Crowley lusted after her, or he hated her. Or both.

“I went to the grocery store and it was really packed. Some people bumped into me. Others were blocking the aisle just standing there talking. I tried to find other aisles to go down instead of shoving or pushing past anyone.”

She looked at Crowley after the drone of her voice ended. 

He nodded at her, bearded cheeks stretched in a smile. “You’re beginning to enter spaces that are busy, that’s good. Do you suppose you did this because you could handle it, or because you were looking to pick a fight?”

“Because I could handle it.” She spoke like a great big wind-up doll, talking when expected and falling creepily silent after. 

“Have you spoken with your father?” he continued, still grinning.

Her lip curled. “No. He won’t speak to me.”

Meg was here because she nearly killed her own brother. Dean didn’t quite understand why, but it sounded like she had an unnaturally  _ close _ relationship with her father and the problem lay there. 

“And how does that make you feel?” Even the Father’s sympathetic voice sounded baby-ish, mocking.

Her face twisted further, she wasn’t going to be able to hold it in. But then her muscles relaxed just enough. “Angry. Hurt. Betrayed. But it’s okay to feel bad. It doesn’t have to rule me. I didn’t go to his house or his job again. I accept he needs time.”

Crowley pulled out his clipboard and began to write, waving a hand to dismiss her.

On cue the dozen or so in the audience clapped politely for her. She stiffly walked to a front seat and slouched in it. 

Dean figured if he ever ended up here again, Meg would still be crumpled in that same front seat with Crowley silently gobbling up her misery.

After the speakers, Dean helped pass out the reading material and drank a cup of burnt coffee. He chatted with the people around him when they said hi or muttered complaints.

But his thoughts never strayed far from an idyllic church with grey ashlar siding. Tomorrow was Castiel’s last day leading the sermon for the week and Dean would be there. 

After all, he had finally found another person and that person was crying out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I love your guys' reviews for the first chapter, they were full of blasphemy and wickedness... And I. Love. It. XD


	3. Chapter 3

The day’s Reading was an interesting one to Castiel. 

It was Elijah sending his servant to check the sky seven times and the moment a cloud appeared he knew it would become a storm. And indeed the sky grew black and heavy rain fell. 

Many interpreted it many ways, but as Castiel stared at the freshly shaved face of a man in the back pew, he wondered.

As he traced a finger over the Gospel for the Mass, he wetted his lips slowly. The text spoke of righteousness and Heaven, but the next lines were stuttered on before smoothing out.

“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment.” The text continued on to enumerate that insulting another person has done harm and will be subject to being punished in the afterlife.

It was astounding how the Readings and Gospel, chosen so far ahead of time, could encompass current happenings so well. It was touching, and a little frightening. In a good way, of course.

He spoke his pre-written homily, changing up certain words to, perhaps, make it more relatable to the man in back and give him some peace. 

Castiel stepped down and began to distribute the Eucharist. It was a short process, though most of the people sitting in the pews got up to receive it. That was another funny occurrence, as a child in church he noticed hardly anyone came up for Communion more than once a week or month.

Now they lined up and opened their mouths to receive the Blood and Body like the incessant maw of surfaced fish. 

Maybe he dithered a little longer than normal today. He had to make himself walk to the booths. Under normal circumstances his big, thick Breviary waited in there for him because he had plenty of time to silently do his prayers.

Now he walked toward the booth with an air of suspended anticipation. Once he was sitting inside in the relative darkness, he listened.

For once he didn’t pick up his book and trace the rounded holes to his right. 

The door next to him clicked open. A small shuffle as the person stepped around the kneeling post and took a seat.

“Bless me, Cas, for I have sinned.”

Castiel blew out a deep breath, settling both hands on his knees and squeezing. “Hello, Dean.”

“You were waiting for me.” 

“I saw you in the pews.” 

Now the other man chuckled, a touchable thing that filled the small space between them. “Interesting scriptures you picked today.”

"I didn’t choose them.” He tilted his head, staring at the screen as if he might catch a glimpse of him.

“Who did then? Did Crowley? Did you tell him about me?” Where he was amused before, suspicion crept into his voice like an undercurrent of black.

Castiel hesitated, uncertain. Instead of the angry piping whine of most people, this was the quiet rumble of a dog about to bite. “Dean, the readings are sent to every Catholic church. You could walk into any one and hear the same Mass.”

It was quiet for several long seconds.

“Really?” Dean asked in a lighter voice, somewhat impressed. “That’s crazy. Any church anywhere, even other countries?”

A relieved smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. The language may be different, but the passages and Gospel are the same.” 

“That’s crazy,” he chuckled, all hints of darkness gone. “Like a cult. No offense.”

Castiel reached for the small pocket that held his rosary, switching it to his left hand without thinking. When he had been standing at the front, even half-blinded by the spotlight beaming up at him, he kept stealing glances at Dean. 

Was that his small cloud?

“Hey, so about the scripture. Is it saying that insulting your sibling is just as bad as murder?”

Castiel knew many schools of thought on the subject, but he often went with the line of the measuring of mortal sins. “It is about intentions. In your case, if a man is defending himself, or another, then his intention is not to end the life of another.”

“What about the time when you know you’ll have to take a life to save one? Doesn’t that count toward it?” He sounded genuinely curious. 

Castiel tried to remember the intricacies of the class, it had been quite a while since he thought of this particular subject. “I believe there is a difference between consequence and result. If in the process of defense you kill another, that was the  _ consequence _ while the result was  _ protection _ .”

"Huh. I never thought of it that way. Speaking of which, should I recite my sins now?”

They both knew Castiel couldn’t finish the session. But he didn’t think Dean was here for that anyway. ‘ _ I want  _ **_you_ ** _ to forgive me’. _

“If you’d like.”

Dean shifted around, tapping the thin slot between them. He tapped again when Castiel pretended it was just a sound that meant nothing.

He didn’t tap again.

“So Ten Commandments... I mentioned the bubblegum, right? I’ve had a shit relationship with my dad for most of my life and we argued a lot. That’s a commandment.”

How often had the sinkers spoke of their parents? The stories always ended up being inhumane and depressing. But Castiel wasn’t ready to decide if Dean was a sinker yet. “Sometimes a person must turn their back on the teachings of even their own parents, if the teachings are not good.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. There wasn’t a whole lotta teaching going on. I can probably count on one hand all times I saw him after I was eleven. I guess I was man enough then to raise his other son and bastard.”

Normally Castiel might ask about the mother, but instead remained silent. Dean was a talker, once given the chance to talk.

“Not that I hold it against the kid. He’s a good kid. A lot like me too, but I think he’ll overcome that part. Definitely nicer all around.” A creak of wood as Dean settled a foot on the old kneeling board. 

“I see all these other kids running around and I get jealous. They didn’t have to figure out cooking on a shit stove. Or live in fear that you were gonna be the first to starve, and the only bad part about that was nobody would be left to take care of your brothers.”

Castiel clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “Is it a fleeting emotion?”

“What’s that?”

“The jealousy. Does it come and go, or does it linger and lead to other bad thoughts?” 

Dean made a considering sound. “I think of my dad after usually, yeah. But if I can get outside, I start to calm down.”

Castiel thought that was a somewhat reasonable method to take when upset. The conversation had fell into such normal lines that he nearly jumped when he heard a tapping.

It took a moment to realize it was coming from the lower right, as it had before.

“You’ll do it eventually.” Dean was close by the screen again, tone low and promising. 

Had he added anything else, Castiel would have paused in his reach for the wooden slot. But silence filled the air between them and he slid his hand, palm up, through the opening.

 

Just like before Dean only lightly touched the top, and like before, the same thrill ran up his arm. “You have a scar on your palm.” But he didn’t ask how. Some people asked Castiel about himself. Dean was waiting to see if he’d open up. 

Or was the presumptuous to think he knew the other man so well? He didn’t really know him at all. “I flipped over my bike when I was about twelve. The gravel tore out a chunk of flesh. I’m surprised you could see it.” He had stared at the skin as an adult sometimes, to see if if the damage was still visible. 

The only reason he still knew which side it happened on was because he had to spend two weeks writing with his left hand. 

“How did you flip over your bike?”

“I was clumsy as a child.”

This time the silence was thick, as if Dean knew this was a lie. Cas flexed his fingers as Dean petted the skin, the light caresses raising bumps all along his arm to his side.

He chuckled as he ran his fingers along the inside of Castiel’s wrist. “Too bad you can’t wear short sleeves. And what’s with all the buttons, I stopped counting at like four hundred.”

“There are thirty-three buttons.”

“Whatever, it’s too many.”

Castiel rolled his eyes before he thought about it. But since the man on the other side only huffed a soft laugh, he pushed on with his thoughts. “Why do you see me as real?” 

Not that this was the most pressing question he had from their earlier conversation, but it felt safer.

Dean was quiet as his touch dipped between each of Castiel’s fingers in a repetitive path from one side to the next. “Because you are,” he finally said.

Castiel didn’t say anything right away. He had formal training in psychology, and yet his curiosity was overwhelming. “Is anyone else real?”

“Sure. My brothers. Children. But somewhere along the line as children become adults that changes. They keep tearing parts of themselves out until there’s nothing but a shell.”

A creak sounded as pressure was put on the board tilted against the ground on the other side. Castiel thought Dean was pushing his foot on it, at least until he felt his hand pressed against lips again. But his arm was still low. 

Dean must have finally knelt.

He moved his fingers to the left, the rasp of stubble scraping along sensitive fingertips. Castiel wanted to pretend Dean guided his hand that way. “How does this feel?”

“Warm. I get so lost surrounded by husks.” Dean murmured as he rubbed his scratchy cheek against Castiel’s palm. 

And that’s when Castiel knew he had been right, and he had been wrong. All his intentions disappeared the longer they sat together alone. His hand curled back uncertainly.

Dean captured his index finger before Castiel could pull away, sucking half into the heat of his mouth and silk of his tongue. His calloused fingers curled around Castiel’s wrist firmly, holding him in place while using his lips to stroke up and down.

It should have felt crude, or vulgar, but a wash of heat rushed through his veins. He wanted to move, to feel his mouth other places than just his fingers. Didn’t matter where, anywhere. The pulsing heat in his belly demanded it.

It was agonizingly slow the way Dean curled his tongue around the sensitive pad, air cool against the wet skin when he moved to the middle finger. 

Castiel closed his eyes, breath coming fast through his parted lips. Rocking his fingers into Dean’s mouth without meaning to, he palmed at the front of the trousers. It wasn’t like he never had to adjust himself to avoid embarrassment, he was still relatively young.

But this was different. He touched firmly through the layers of cloth, unable to resist a lingering pressure before yanking his hand back. And he was entirely unsuccessful in biting back a groan.

“Don’t stop that,” Dean said between sliding the tip of his tongue against the sensitive juncture between two fingers. “You don’t have to finish, but the face you make when you do that… Don’t stop yet.” The drag of his voice would send anyone’s thoughts scattering.

Castiel pretended he didn’t know better and slid his palm over the now smoothed fabric. It’d been years since he did this, he had been almost convinced it wasn’t all that great. 

He was wrong. 

Black edged the corners of his vision while running his thumb all along the covered head. 

Dean kept the steady rocking motion, tongue snaking against the underside of both fingers. His breath was hot against the top of Castiel’s hand and the sound vibrated when he made sounds Castiel had never heard at all before. Deep and needy.

Moving his hand in tandem with Dean’s, shoulders pressed against the worn pad behind behind while rocking his hips against his hand. The realization he couldn’t stop,  _ but should, _ brought him over the edge and he spilled with a hoarse shout, pulsing against his hand for what felt like minutes.

Blackness swallowed him and he was full of bliss and God, full of sin that spread in hot spurts. When Cas opened his eyes, he was half off the seat and a sopping mess between his thighs. It felt damp down to the knees.

It cooled fast. He forgot that too.

He touched his cheeks in shock, looking at the cool wetness of his fingers.

Castiel glanced at the slot, realizing just now that they were eye-level because he was slumped over. 

Dean had bottle-green eyes, the color Castiel used to admire as a kid when the sunlight lightened old soda bottles to an elusive and effervescent beauty. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Perfect. You’re absolutely perfect.” 

Placing a soft kiss against his knuckles, Dean winked and disappeared. The click of the door opening was followed by the careless slow descent. 

When the door closed with a crack, Castiel closed his eyes. His face was hot, the words and wink intensifying his flush of mortification. He had never been greatly concerned with what people thought of him, so picking it back up felt strange and unwieldy, but  _ he did care _ .

Scrubbing his face with the stiff edge of the sleeve, he grabbed the large book next to him. Holding it in front of his lap like a schoolboy, he opened the door and made the shameful walk to his rooms to get cleaned up.

The few people in the church seemed to take no notice of him, as usual. When he left confession, people looked away as if he might read their sins.

Now he was the one to look away.

Once safely alone, he unbuttoned and discarded the cassock. While peeling off his trousers he regarded the boxers with embarrassment. 

The material was damp and tacky, sticking to his skin when he tugged them down. Had it always been this messy? Perhaps he forgot in the intervening years when his body became a temple dedicated to God. 

The shirt was discarded as well and he fell to his knees right there on the hard ground and pulled the Breviary in front of him. He prayed until his knees ached in agony and his back burned under the strain, but he never stopped whispering.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel enjoyed extinguishing the candles on the altar late on Sunday. It was often such a busy day that he barely got in time to finish his Liturgy of the Hours, but he never skipped this part.

Usually there were several wicks still lit that he blew out reverently, keeping in mind that it was in a prayer to someone.

Father Gabriel was sitting in one of the chairs in the back of the stage, one leg slung over the armrest. “You know the cleaning ladies do all that.”

Castiel was gently prying a blob of wax off the top altar cloth, placing it in a small pile once freed. “We’re down one volunteer. The rest should spend their time focusing on other areas.” 

“Ahh, that would be Lisa.” Gabriel grinned over at him, slouching down in the high backed chair. “Her son was an altar boy, and he's gone too. The whole clan was absent, they usually sit in the middle to the left.”

Gabriel led the early Mass on Sunday because Crowley preferred to take the noon one with its larger attendance. But Castiel knew who the people were, he handled the paperwork for everyone who passed through the building as more than just a worshipper.

“Is there a reason? Are they experiencing troubles?” If he recalled correctly, they were not a small family. Three adult sisters and one brother, their spouses, and all of them bearing one to three children save for the youngest unmarried sister.

Gabriel raised both eyebrows at him, getting that look he got when he started calling Castiel precious or innocent. “Their matriarch, Stella, passed away two weeks ago.”

Castiel stared. He shook his head, thinking hard. “Nobody has approached me about arrangements. Mrs. Cavallo has been a member of this church, if I recall, since she was young.”

Gabriel was clearly biting back a grin, his eyes lit up. He found the most strange, and sometimes awful, things funny. It was one of the traits Castiel did not like about him. “They’re not burying her here, she’s cooling in  Conner ’s Funeral Home.”

Castiel knew that the other priest was holding back, waiting for him to puzzle through this himself. It was frustrating, because Gabriel always knew what was going on more than he did. “I don’t understand. If it’s about price--”

The dirty blond waved a hand, making a dismissive sound. “Stella may have been tight-fisted with her money, but she  _ had _ it in spades. You could tell by how tight Crowley’s cassock got when she was around.”

Fighting against the flush heating his cheeks and neck, Castiel busied himself picking up the wax that dripped into the marble floor.

“Actually” Gabriel continued, “Grace wants her buried here. But Lisa and young Celeste refused to sign off.”

That was a problem sometimes, all the children had to grant permission before the arrangements would proceed. Just last year the church was home to a deceased parishioner for over three weeks because the children couldn’t decide between cremation and burial. It had been easier when burial was the only option, but Crowley had updated their services to provide both now that it was allowed.

“I didn’t know it would be an issue.” He’d met Lisa several times over the past two years, she always had a harried expression and tacked-on smile as if it made her tired to do so. 

He had never thought it might have to do with her mother. Stella was a tall, stately woman who always looked well-groomed and in control. But it was also known, probably to a larger extent than he had heard, that she took a hands-on approach with all those in her life.

Her husband died four years ago. Stella just kept doing what she did, and that included keeping an eye on her descendants. Castiel had always thought it was nice to see such a strong, religious familial unit in this age and time.

“Don’t worry, it’s not us. For once.” Gabriel got up and brushed his hands down the white vestments he wore with such pomp and circumstance on Sundays. 

“Oh.” An uneasy thought wriggled at the back of his head, and he cast a slow look at Gabriel. Even he picked up the derogatory implications surrounding Stella Cavallo. “How did she die, out of curiosity?”

“In the hospital after she broke her leg. Complications.” The other Father kept walking down the steps with a jaunty wave over his shoulder to mark his departure. 

Relief flooded through him. He shook his head at his own thoughts. Paranoia was not his nature, he preferred to think the best of people. Despite all evidence to the contrary sometimes.

Castiel looked at his little pile of wax and gathered it together to toss, then replacing the votive candles. He’d been diligent about all the prayers required of him the past few days, neglecting his normal diversions to the point that even Crowley was casting an eye in his direction.

Since the other two priests left to their homes, Castiel locked up and looked around the grandly furnished place. He had been in such awe when he transferred here, struck by the beauty of this temple dedicated to the Lord.

It hadn’t taken him long before the attitude of both Fathers had eroded that thought. One wanted the place to shine like a jewel, the other scoffed at the expensive trappings.

His bedroom was located on the lower level, past the simple kitchens and down a hallway where the utility and boiler rooms were. 

The room had one light fixture on the wall, all that was needed in the space, as well as a bed, desk, and bookshelf. It had a conjoining bathroom, a luxury that Castiel had grown fond of. He hung up his clothes in the closet and sat at the desk. He opened the book to where he left off and stared without reading.

It wasn’t long before he got up and made his way to the kitchens to check the trash. It was empty.

Shaking his head at himself, he went back to the room and switched off the light before climbing between the cool sheets.

  
  


Dean was giving serious thought to what Cas said. Make nice with the people left behind. That actually sounded like a good idea. He couldn’t offer stuff like money or admit he was the one that did it, but if Cas thought it was good, well, he was the expert.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and pushed a cap on his head, becoming just a regular jeans and plaid-wearing dude taking a stroll down in the street. The route was familiar, he had taken it many times in the past month. 

It was too early for a certain gray SUV to pass this way on the way to a certain somewhat rundown house. And only two people lived there now, Mrs. Marshall and her young daughter.

One week ago it had been three.

He didn’t need to walk by their house to remember all the problems they had just in their front yard. Stump removal, cracked driveway, broken step, and a new paint job too.

Dean didn’t have the equipment to do  _ all  _ of that, but most of it was do-able by hand. He certainly had the experience, the company he worked for did just about any job needed for the average homeowner. 

He had some ideas on how to approach the newly bereaved widow, but she was approaching middle-age and rightfully suspicious of men. He could go with the good old discount in return for putting the company sign in her yard.

Since nobody was home anyway he kept walking, making his way to a local convenient store with hand-written signs and dusty windows.

He grabbed a quart of milk and bananas, checking out the clearance items. He picked up some canned stuff to cook with, like cream sauces and peas and corn, cause Adam still ate like a friggin’ horse.

Not that he was complaining, at least Adam was still around. He had chosen a nearby community college.

Heck, maybe he shouldn’t discourage Adam from looking at priest school. The kid was looking for direction, and it was better than the military.

As he was getting in line, a woman wearing tight yoga pants dropped a can. It rolled toward his foot, and Dean noted her ass as she bent to get it.

Then she straightened and he recognized her.

“Dean!” Her face lit up. She was pretty without makeup, the puffy skin under her eyes and recent outbreak better than the beige layers he was used to seeing on her. “Hi.” She belatedly stuck the can on the conveyor belt, nervously tucking her dark hair behind one ear.

He’d dated Lisa for a few weeks earlier in the year before she broke it off. It hadn’t bothered him, he had gotten what he needed by then.

“Hey Lisa, how’re you?” He gave her an appreciative glance as he unloaded the groceries next to hers. He figured she would like that and not think too hard on how far from his house he was.

She did blush, nearly taking out the tiny credit card scanner with her purse as she shuffled down the line. “Oops, um. Good, I’m good. Been really busy lately. How about you?” Her voice had a nervous high-pitch.

“Same old. Working, taking care of the family. How’s Ben?” It was easy to keep a conversation with her. 

“He’s great.” She relaxed somewhat, missing the two times the cashier tried to get her attention. Then she fumbled as she hoisted her purse on the ledge and searched. “You know, I’d love to hang out sometime.” She kept her eyes on her purple flower wallet while sliding out her credit card.

“That would be nice. It’d be good for you to be around friends right now.” He didn’t want to give her false hope that they could continue dating. He watched her face fall, poker up, then settle into a funny combination of hope and resignation.

“Yeah, it would. I’ll call you then?” She paid and grabbed her groceries, lingering for just a moment.

He nodded and waved when she walked out, drawing out his own old leather wallet and pulling out a twenty. He paid the girl when the total came up and took his change, grabbing the bag and walking out.

That was a little more attention than he liked when in certain neighborhoods, even if his activities here were all said and done. It had even killed the good buzz he got from walking by that house.

He walked all the way home, unlocking the door and tossing the keys in a lumpy clay box sitting on a side table. Adam was in class, so he reached in the fridge to crack open a beer.

With expenses going the way they were, a six-pack was a luxury. Sam had bought it when he came down the weekend before. His brother was doing well for himself and that was great. Kept offering to help out with money too, but so long as Adam’s tuition was paid Dean was going to keep saying no. 

Sam thought he was being proud. Dean wasn’t, but siblings were so hard to convince of truths they didn’t want to see. 

Because his younger brother knew a lot more than he let on, but didn’t think Dean noticed. 

He sat on the sofa chair and turned on the television for when Adam got home. It was just background noise for Dean as he took a drink of beer.

Soon he’d come home every day to an empty house. The boys thought he spent too much time focusing on what they were gonna do, but he didn’t have anything else to think about most of the time. To be frank, his own future was a bit fuzzy and unimportant. 

He finished the beer before realizing how much he kept picking it up. The next one lasted the rest of the evening. Adam got home around six and hurried upstairs after eating to get on his computer. Dean didn’t know what he spent his time online doing, but seemed harmless enough. 

Dinner was beef and sauce and noodles, the leftovers were packed away and now came the decision whether to stay home or leave. The urge to take an evening walk only meant one thing lately.

In the end he shut his door decisively and locked it, staying inside. He’d call Lisa in a few days, set up some sort of casual time to be in her presence. 

Sunday turned out to be a stranger day than last weekend, which had involved his first time stepping foot in a church of his own free will.

Of course Adam wanted to go to Mass, but unlike last time, he was willing to go alone now that he’d gotten his toes wet. Mostly willing.

“Dean,” Adam wheedled while searching for his nice shoes. “It would be a little weird if I go by myself.”

“Naw, you’re over eighteen. You even have a car.” Dean had to say no to his brothers sometimes, even as adults. Siblings did not always drop everything to do the other wanted, he noticed that from observation in and out of his own home.

Adam finally found the shoes and now went on a hunt for polish. It was in the upstairs closer, but the kid looked everywhere else first because he’d never used the stuff before. “I’m gonna ask how to join today.” 

He shrugged, even though he was listening hard to every word now. It wasn’t a coincidence that his brother was so dead-set on this church at this time. 

Adam followed him to the fridge and around the kitchen as he made a bowl of cereal. “Cause I can’t participate in any of the stuff unless I’m a Catholic.” 

Splashing milk in the bowl, he avoided his brother’s eye. It kept the younger man seeking his approval instead of pushing away a father-figure brother. Indeed, he had a hoverer as while sitting down and took a big bite of some kind of wheat cereal Sam swore by. 

Finally when it became clear Adam wasn’t going to continue to babble on just the same as when he wanted to join little league, Dean turned and stuck out his tongue while crunching loudly. “Okay. Have fun.”

Adam made a face. “Gross!” He threw up his arms as he walked away, in almost perfect imitation of Sam. But he was still cheery as he got dressed and headed out the door at seven am in the morning. “Bye Dean!” 

Maybe the kid wouldn’t be bad at the whole religious thing. He certainly had more self-control than the average college student, didn’t sleep in or fuck around.

Dean watched him go before picking up his phone. It was a little early, but he sent a text Lisa’s way. He knew she didn’t have any plans today, though she had been pretending to be a devout Catholic when they dated. 

She responded right away, letting him know she had no plans before lunch and she’d like to grab coffee. 

He stared at the screen in amusement. But he had left the Cavallo family alone this long, it was too hard to resist now that the opportunity plopped right in his lap. He got cleaned up, but ran his hand along his jaw before shaving. It would be scratchy again by Tuesday.

The priest had liked it that way, even ran his fingers along Dean’s cheek without being guided there. Yeah, he’d shave it today so he wasn’t sporting a full Grizzly Adams beard or anything. Since he made the concession, he pulled on a cotton shirt and an old pair of jeans that had several grease fingerprints on the thighs that no amount of detergent would get rid of.

When he got to the place,  _ Hearts in Foam _ , he took an empty seat in the corner after grabbing two lattes. As promised, it had two cocoa hearts swirled into the silky layer of foam. Using a wooden stirrer to twirl the design into circles, he smiled when he saw her walking in.

She was on the phone, rather pink-cheeked while dropping her voice. It was relatively empty though, he could hear her just fine hissing sentences between pauses. “No, cause I’m busy. Ben is fine, he’s at a friend’s house. I hardly think he’ll miss it. Go, if you want. Well that’s not my problem.” 

She sent him an apologetic look, hovering near the table as if she couldn’t sit without getting off the phone.

Dean smiled sympathetically and patted the seat next to him. When she sat and kept arguing with who he assumed was Grace, he took a sip of the espresso laden latte and felt that heady buzz from before warmly settle at the back of his neck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam decides to take matters into his own hands.

Dean was at Daily Mass again on Tuesday. 

It was sick the way Castiel checked every day between last and now when he was kneeling in the front of the pews. But the real test of strength came on Tuesday, the day he lead Mass and stood before the congregation. 

He watched the way Dean’s lips moved to the words of the song, and wondered if he was actually singing. The man just seemed lighter and his focus more unabashed than before.

A trickle of sweat ran down Castiel’s spine as he read the Gospel aloud, blindly, mired in his own uncertainty. What would he do when the confessional door opened this time? It would be so easy to just think that Dean was here to fool around, see how far he could get with a naive and gullible priest. 

But when his eyes cut across the large space between them, he couldn’t see any mockery on the handsome face. Just interest and something else indefinably intense.

After he fed the eager mouths their food, unable to stop feeling like a mother bird, he found himself making the short walk to the door. Instead of looking left or right, he simply entered and sat down heavily.

Guilt clawed at his insides when he felt the package at his side, momentarily forgetting what was there. Then the memory hit him. Tissues. He stuffed a pack of tissues into his holy vestments. God, was this how far he had sunken? Maybe leaving the monastery had been a bad idea if his Vows were so weak.

The door opened and someone sat heavily, huffing once. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The trembling whisper was familiar, but not in any way that Castiel hoped. It wasn't Dean.

Even though he could do little to stop what was coming, he still crossed himself silently before the man began.

The next twenty minutes scraped his nerves raw. By the time the booth was vacant again Castiel pushed out of his own with the Breviary held protectively under one arm. 

Nobody was left except two women lighting candles at the altar. One of them turned and he dimly recognized one of the women from nearly a year ago.

“Father,” she excused herself from her friend and approached him with a real smile underneath all the yellow-tinged splotches on her face. “I don’t suppose you remember me, but I’m Fran Marshall. I used to attend.”

“I do, actually.” He shook her hand politely, recognizing old bruises in sudden clarity. “How have you been?”

“Fine, fine.” She nodded, a shadow creeping behind her eyes. “I was told to talk to you about volunteering.”

“Of course. Do you want to fill out the paperwork now, or take it home with you?” Exactly what was needed. The Lord provided, he reminded himself, just the answers weren’t always as straight-forward as this.

“I’ll take it home. I’m going out to lunch with a friend. It seems like forever since I’ve done that.” That genuine warmth peeked out again, and she followed him as he went back to the small office the priests used for items needed on-hand. 

He checked the shelves with forms, next to the stacks of pamphlets and information on various services. 

She kept talking while hovering in the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ll bring it back, promise.” She laughed shortly, a small sound. “I, um, am trying to get back into things I used to enjoy. Especially after I had a great stroke of luck the other day, after I decided I would began to come to church again.”

“Oh?” Castiel asked distractedly, lifting up two forms on childcare and another on prospective converts. 

"Yes! I guess my house in a prime location for house repair customers, because a company called me out of the blue and offered to help renovate for super cheap in return for advertising. I can’t tell you what a blessing that was. Coming home to a place I’m proud of…” she drew a deep breath, voice becoming thready, “it would mean the world to me.”

Locating the form and tugging it free, he turned to hold it out and was greeted with the woman sopping at her eyes with the bottom of her shirt.

Castiel removed the pack from his side and pulled out several tissues. He hesitated before handing them to her, but it was ridiculous to think she would see them and just  _ know _ .

She took them gratefully. “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess.” She blew her nose, and looked around the floor.

He pointed at the wastebasket in the corner. “I am here to talk to and provide counsel, Fran.” He patted her shoulder and walked out of the small space. 

She followed him out into the hall after tossing the tissues, then took the papers with a renewed sense of energy. “Thank you, Father. I’ll see you soon.” 

He watched her go, a frown touching his forehead. There was nothing wrong with her, but at some point in their conversation he felt like he missed something. His thoughts ran back to Dean, which were quickly pushed away in frustration. 

How was he supposed to help people when he couldn’t control his own selfish desires? Shaking his head, Castiel walked down to the large office on the second level to began his never-ending job of keeping track of accounts, official directives, and fielding voicemails. 

It was more Crowley’s domain than his, so it was strange sitting in the otherwise comfortable chair behind the desk. Writing down notes while listening and marking down calls he had to return was familiar and safe. Lately he had been craving the repetitive schedule, it was honest and hard-earned.

All the tension began to drain out of his shoulders by the time he listened to the last message, a long one left by Crowley. Long by his standards, anyway. 

“Castiel, our Deacon won’t be able to cover Initiation tomorrow due to a conflicting event. Thanks.” 

He huffed at the phone, unable to help himself. The Deacon was reliable and able to fix minor repairs around the building, which saved money, but Crowley did have a habit of just expecting Castiel to drop everything when there were three priests. 

In fact, Castiel hadn’t even been aware that they were starting classes this week, which was strange, since he ran the schedule. Reaching out for the thick book, he flipped to June.

Running his finger along the days, he saw  **_AW - RCIA_ ** written in bold black marker. It wouldn’t be the first time they started the class for just one or two people, Castiel found the informality of it inefficient, but this wasn’t his parish.

He was distracted enough, though, that he forgot about a certain face watching him from the back. 

 

Dean grumbled the whole time as he pulled out plates for dinner. “Eating at four? Going to church not on a Sunday? This is ridiculous.” He scooped teriyaki chicken and rice on both plates, and piled one extra high with vegetables. That one he placed in front of Adam just as he was sitting.

The teenager made a face. “Jesus, is there even any meat here?”

“I bet you say that at all the college parties.” Dean smirked as he sat down with his better proportioned plate and a glass of milk. He got an eye roll for his joke, but he picked out a big piece of chicken and ate it slowly.

“Not fair.” Adam sulked as he speared a mess of those green peapods that came in frozen stir-fry packages. “How come you don’t have to eat as many?”

“Cause you need the brain-power to get through all those college classes you’re doing. I’m just a grunt who breaks concrete and pulls out weeds, don’t need smarts for that.” 

For some reason he pouted even more, stuffing light brown rice in his mouth. 

“What?” Dean raised an eyebrow, leaning one elbow on the table heavily. The kid already had him going to a church thing.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” he mumbled, then threw a cautious glance at Dean. “You’re not dumb.”

Dean pointed at his food sternly. “Hey, if we’re not out of here by 4:15, I’m skipping out on this.” It was the most empty threat he’d ever given since he told Sammy that he couldn’t visit anymore if he kept bringing rabbit food, but Adam shut up and ate.

He couldn’t push it too far though. His very blood thrummed inside his skin, nothing could keep him away from going with Adam. Just had to put up enough protest that it felt like a favor, and also hide ol’ hellraiser filling out his jeans in a rather obvious way.

Because even if he didn’t catch one lone glimpse of Cas, being in the same domain was such a fucking turn-on. 

Hell, it’d taken him at least a few minutes to calm down to leave after the service was over. Cas just licked his lips once and Dean spent the rest of the talking imagining things that would make the priest blush even harder than rubbing one out in the booth.

Dean sighed at the blissful memory, getting a strange look from Adam.

“Stop trying to think of ways out of this,” he warned, waving the tip of his fork at his older brother.

Getting up to stick his empty plate in the sink, Dean shrugged. “Fine. But I’m going to make fart noises every time you sit.”

Adam squawked in protest and made some other angry baby sibling sounds that made Dean laugh uproariously as he grabbed boots to pull on. He treasured these last few years he’d have before the nest was empty.

The drive up was short and nervous. Not on Dean’s part, he was filled with anticipation. They were heading up in Adam’s car because Dean had plans with Lisa later.

That’s what he told Adam anyway. It was a just in case scenario, never hurt to be prepared. The church was somewhat unassuming on the outside, but inside it was really swanky. 

He didn’t know what half of the stuff was called, but since any given piece would cost him at least a month’s rent, he could safely call it swanky.

Then there Castiel was, standing at the altar before a candle that was taller than he was. It had red patterns along the side and was about as thick as his wrist.

“He’s about to put out the Paschal candle, shhhh,” Adam whispered, as if the heavy front doors hadn’t slammed behind them. He didn’t get his wish, Cas lowered his arm before snuffing it and turned to greet them.

There was that shocked moment where his blue eyes got big and he took an involuntary step back, bumping right into the candle.

Dean watched as it teetered. Cas tried to turn and grab it, but his fingers only brushed the red cross on the way down. The slam and clatter echoed in the wide open space.

“Oh my god!” Adam covered his mouth in horror, then babbled, “I mean, gosh! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” He practically ran to the candle’s side like a baby just got dropped.

Dean walked up behind him, staring at the overturned gold holder and the candle. At least the flame went out on the way down, but it was done for. It was broke clean through.

“All the King’s men…” Dean muttered, raising his eyes at the same time as Cas. They stared at each other until he plain forgot anyone else was in the room.

“I’m so sorry, Father, I mean, I can pay for it. Sort of. Or, work it off? Please.” Adam was still on his knees next to the candle, gazing up with panicked fright.

Cas tore his gaze away from Dean and kneeled next to Adam. “It’s not your fault. I will take care of this, you don’t have to worry.” He spoke sincerely and calmly, reaching out to clasp Adam’s shoulder. 

The younger man nodded trustingly, blinking a few times. “Can I still become a member?”

A moment of confusion wrinkled Cas’s forehead, but then it smoothed over. “You’re here for RCIA. Of course you can. Come, let’s go get started.” As he stood up he sent a quick glance at Dean, clearly curious.

Dean wondered what he thought they were here for. He grinned anyway, looking over the priest swiftly before meeting his eyes again. “I’m here to make sure you don’t try and take advantage of my little bro.”

One dark eyebrow rose, Cas didn’t share the humour of that apparently.

Adam ignored the remark, though the tips of his ears turned bright red. “Sorry, he’s just here for moral support. Is that okay?”

“Of course. I encourage family to be involved in their loved one’s decisions, especially one of this magnitude.” Cas threw him a look over his shoulder before walking beside Adam, leading them to a door tucked away where the big space met the entrance area.

It was a shame they had to wear those skirt things, though he had noticed the other priests wore white and Cas always was in black. He was curious about that, but figured he’d have time with him alone later. One way or another.

Adam, however, had no issues keeping up a steady stream of questions. “Wow, this is big down here. What’s that way?”

“The kitchen and store rooms.” 

“Do all the priests sleep in the church or something?”

“No, the rectory is located outside of the church.”

“Ohh, that’s the place where they stay because of transfers, right?” Adam was so clearly trying to show he wasn’t completely ignorant. “I forgot. I mean, I remembered just now. Oh wow, this is nice.” 

Cas led them into a nicely furnished offices, complete with leathers sofas and a nice big desk at the center of the opposite wall. It even had a fireplace. Dean took a seat on one of the big chair, scooting on the smooth surface and running his palm along the armrest. 

Adam took a seat on the wood chair in front of the desk, clasping his hands. 

This was the beginning of the boring part. Papers were passed over and what sounded a lot like homework assignments was talked about. Adam had questions and Cas answered them in that whiskey-rough voice. It was low and soothing, so Dean sat and fantasized about that shout of abandon over and over.

He’d looked so good slumped down after having lost all control of his body. Yeah. That was going to sweeten Dean’s fantasies for a while.

“Hey, are you awake?” 

Dean raised his head its slumped position, keeping his arms crossed lower over his lap. No sense in scandalizing the poor kid after talking about God for like an hour. “Here.” He moved one arm enough to toss the keys at Adam. “I definitely have plans.”

Adam took one look at his smirk and shook his head. “Shhh,” he subtly pointed behind him, “ixnay in front of iest-pray.”

He chuckled in response, waving a hand. “I have a few questions for him before I leave anyway.”

“No Dean,” Adam warned in the same cagey mutter.

“I won’t embarrass you.”

They stared at each other.

Adam tried his best to stand his ground, but Dean had far more experience, and patience, under his belt. He could see the moment his youngest brother crumpled, leaving him grudgingly resigned. “Normal questions?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, I’m gonna ask about altar boys and bad touch.” 

He waved as Adam glared at him before walking off to thank Cas a few times and left, dragging his feet.

But he was good, he waited until Adam was out of sight before turning on the sofa to grin at his priest. “Did you miss me yesterday?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for prodding at me to continue! My summer has just come to an end, so I'll have more time! Well... I'll make more time anyway. Enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone at last.

Castiel was trapped.

Not literally, he could most likely walk out of this ostentatious office right now. How did he find himself sitting behind this huge desk, staring at the very reminder of his own weakness? Who was lounging about and grinning knowingly, to top it all off.

He swallowed. “I didn’t expect you to continue confession since I can’t grant Absolution.” The second the words came out of his mouth he felt foolish. What was he even talking about? 

Castiel simply didn’t know what else to say. He was afraid to get up. He didn’t want Dean to get up. The air felt stifling and there was no movement that didn’t seem dangerous.

Dean simply folded his forearms over the back of the couch and rested his chin on them, a pleased smile making the sides of his eyes crinkle. “You’re so adorable when you get flustered.”

There was nothing he could think of to say to that either. He narrowed his eyes in thought, still turning over a proper way to respond when Dean spoke again, nonchalantly.

“So you go somewhere else to sleep? That’s cool. You look uncomfortable, why don’t you come over here?” Despite the tone, his grin was all charm and suggestion.

“The chair is plenty comfortable.” 

“Oh yeah? Think it can hold two?” He winked again. 

Castiel had always thought of winks as cheap and a little sleazy, but apparently he had never been winked at anyone he was...drawn to. It knocked the breath out him slightly and made him stare at the desk trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

It was silent for an untold number of minutes. Or ten seconds.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Dean cajoled in a different tone, less laden with heat. “I’m always talkin’ about myself. You go.”

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the bookcases in nearly the opposite direction of the other man. “I’m not sure what to tell.” 

“I dunno. What kind of kid were you? Did you like sweets or video games, were you into sports or just books? Stuff like that.”

Castiel tried to relax, his thoughts redirecting themselves somewhat. Talking was safe. “I preferred to sit and read, yes. But I did join the track and swim team in high school. Our school didn’t have a pool, so the team walked a mile to the rec center and practiced there. It helped with track as well, because I would jog both ways.”

Dean gave him a crooked smile, tilting his head on his forearms. “I bet you were really popular.”

“Not really. I kept to myself.”

“Oh no, you were that hot boy with his nose stuck in a book all the time!” He laughed, admiringly instead of mocking. “I bet people were always asking for your notes or what you were reading.”

That made Cas pause. He thought back to the days when he was just a kid with a backpack and a few biographies stuffed in the side pockets. He had forgotten how much he liked that particular genre. “Yes, but that’s because people are forgetful or didn’t want to take notes.”

“Oh Cas.” Dean sighed with good humour, his eyes as clear as a sunlit green glass. “You just didn’t notice they were trying to get in.” 

The topic suddenly made the back of his neck heat up, and he rubbed the traitorous skin as if he could hide it. “I wasn’t interested anyway.”

“That’s because you were waiting for me.” Dean never looked away from him, his tone soft as if imparting an unassailable truth. He stood up, moving languidly as he walked around the sofa and approached the desk. His arms were loose at his sides, posture relaxed and non-threatening.

He was though, in a way.

Dean nudged the chair to face him, crouching between Castiel’s open knees and reaching out with both hands to cup his jawline just under the ears.

Castiel was frozen, not moving at all the second he saw Dean rising up. He only watched him. And when their mouths met, it was Dean who moved from a firm pressure to plying his lower lip with lip-nibbles and sucking. Then he traced the seam of Castiel’s mouth with his tongue.

“Let me in,” he rasped.

Castiel gripped the side of Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer without thought while opening up.

It was a scalding invasion, the imprint of Dean’s tongue everywhere. Inside his lips, along the smooth line of his teeth, and finally stroking firmly against his tongue. That when Castiel responded, rubbing and tasting back. Dean tasted like spit and the dark-sweet of anise.

Dean groaned against his mouth, raw and deep. He pushed harder against the pliant body, keeping one hand on his neck and gripping Castiel’s lower back in the other. The added weight wasn’t an issue, though the chair tilted back slightly.

Castiel felt like he was burning from the inside, breathing hard in tandem with the chest against his and aching where they weren’t touching. It was embarrassing how badly he wanted to close the miniscule distance between their hips, to rub against Dean until he couldn’t think anymore.

Not as if thoughts were playing a prominent role in this. 

As if responding to his thoughts, Dean moved the hand on his back to press his palm against just between his open legs. And that’s it. Just rested his hand there, barely even rubbing to feel the outline against the thick fabric.

Sitting with the other man leaning into him, he couldn’t properly shift his hips. A low moan came from his own throat and he didn’t care.

Dean broke the kiss, biting his jaw lightly. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured darkly against the skin. “Is that what you want?”

Cas nodded because he didn’t have any other choice, because something under his skin was writhing to to get out. If it didn’t, he was afraid it would consume everything from the inside. He opened his mouth again when Dean kissed him and thrust his tongue inside in steady strokes.

It took all his attention until the flap was his trousers loosened suddenly, so fast he didn’t even notice the brush of fingers. 

“Unbutton all this,” came the chuckle, Dean touching his chest before claiming his mouth again.

Castiel tried, but his own hands were shaking so badly that he had to agree with Dean’s earlier assessment. Too many. He made another pathetic sound into the kiss, but at least it had the result of help. Both of them undoing it went much quicker, though he had to lean up to pull down the sleeves so the cassock could be tucked behind him.

It wasn’t until they broke apart so Dean could pull the black shirt over off that Castiel opened his eyes wide and stared at him. Now he was shirtless and front of his boxers exposed, other realizations were trying to push in.

But Dean was shrugging out of his red plaid shirt and yanking the undershirt off and that was the end of that. He wasn’t lean, but his muscles were defined in wide, shallow lines and taut prominence of his chest. 

Dean didn’t take much time before leaning in to suck and bite lightly at Castiel’s neck, running his thumbs all along his hipbones. “Love these right here. I’m gonna hold on them while I split you open with my mouth.” He bit again, just hard enough to make Castiel gasp.

He didn’t know what Dean meant, but the guttural way he said it made the throbbing intensify. The front of his boxers were damp again, but just enough to frustrate him at the lessened friction. 

It was only a second of relief as Dean grabbed his erection and slid it into the open air, the air hitting the wet skin not mattering one iota as Dean’s tongue licked up the underside and wrapped his mouth around the first few inches. 

Later Castiel couldn’t remember what he said or did at that point, but he was gripping Dean’s head with both hands when coming to. He had to consciously loosen his fingers and slacken his arms.

The other man hummed, making his lips vibrate before dragging the flat of his tongue just under the head. “Say my name like that again.” 

“Dean…” Castiel would have said just about anything, but the shape of the name felt familiar. Had he been groaning it during the moments where every sense dulled but touch?

It made wet noises as he sucked while tugging on the sides of the pants. He practically lifted his hips to get them off then settled there again, pulling Castiel to the edge of the chair and held him under the thighs.

For one uncertain moment, Cas started to ask, perhaps, why Dean was splaying his thighs open. Not in those words. But any noise froze up as buried his face against the soft sac there and stuck his tongue just below.

He tried to move his thighs, maybe scoot back from the long lick, but Dean’s grip tightened to keep his hips in place as he sucked and kiss just around the entrance Castiel had never given any thought to being touched like this.

But as the wet push of tongue laved all along the sensitive skin, he stopped struggling and gripped the armrests to push forward. That didn’t work either and he nearly sobbed when Dean’s slick tongue just pushed inside.

When he looked down he could see his own erection laying on his stomach, the wet and reddened head leaking a small pool of clear liquid. Then Dean licked and thrust his tongue inside of him again and his back bowed.

“Please, Dean, please don’t stop.” He was aware he was babbling, barely able to rock his hips with the bruising grip Dean had on him. 

“I said I’d take care of you,” Dean murmured as he straightened to suck Castiel down again, moving down his length before coming off with a soft pop. He licked the mess left on Castiel’s stomach, kissing just the tip before resuming the open mouth sucking against the puckered skin below.

It felt filthy and beautiful when Dean resumed pushing his tongue inside of him in steady thrusts. 

Castiel scratched the buttery leather under his hands, he ground out the name “Dean” until it felt like a benediction. 

One hand lifted from its clench on his hip to grip his throbbing length, Dean pumped his fist once, twice, and Castiel couldn’t stop groaning as surge after surge released onto his own chest. 

This time Dean was holding him in place, shoulder bracing his thighs as he rocked on the tongue still moving inside of him.

It stopped some eternity later and Castiel slumped against the chair. His muscles left his limbs dead weight, but he watched Dean with heavy-lidded eyes.

Dean wiped his mouth with one hand as he straightened up on his knees, staring at the still half-swollen erection before him and thick liquid running down Castiel’s abdomen as he freed himself with one hand. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered as he held himself, the thick head framed in the circle of his index and thumb. Even though his head tilted back, his slitted gaze never left Castiel’s as he squeezed and thrust into his own fist.

His other hand gripped the armrest where Castiel’s arm had long since fallen from, bracing as he quickened his pace. “Fuck,” his eyes dropped to roam over the splayed body of the priest. “Do you want me to stop?”

Castiel couldn’t stop watching the way his grip pulled back and forth over the length, long and hard. “Dean,” he said, his voice raw and even more rough than normal.

Dean lost it then, trembling from the tense muscles of his stomach to thighs as the first spurt mingled with the messy stripes all over Castiel’s chest. Not that he was counting that, but it kept coming until the last dribbled down his fingers and wrist.

Only then did he sit back on his calves, wiping his hand carelessly on his jeans. Dean grinned at him, relaxed and warm. “Holy shit, you’re a wreck.” He leaned over to pick up his undershirt, wiping away the smears all over Castiel’s chest before he could even blink.

It wasn’t a perfect job, the material was getting soaked even when he turned it to clean along his stomach. 

Cool streaks sent a shiver through Castiel when the shirt was tossed aside. He sat up then, fighting the urge to cover his bare body. His body felt lax and warm, but even now he could see into the far-off horizon of consequence.

But Dean was pressing against him, the bare skin of their chests barely brushed as he kissed him with lazy assurance. Tongues tangled together like getting the last bit of batter off a spoon. 

This time when Dean stood up he was buckling his jeans again, sighing as he picked up Castiel’s clothes to hand to him. “I better get home soon. Where do you sleep anyway?” After handing off the clothes he picked up his red plaid shirt and buttoned it to hide the lack of shirt underneath.

“Here.” Castiel knew it was a mistake to say it the moment the green eyes poured over his body and the crooked smile appeared again.

Dean leaned so close that it looked as if he was going to kiss him again, but instead he peered deeply into his eyes and whispered. “Told you I’d take care of you.” Then he straightened and walked out with a familiar jaunty step.

Getting dressed wasn’t a quick or relaxed process. Especially when he realized the door wasn’t even closed. He picked up the crumpled shirt and felt the cold smears soak into his skin. 

The protocol was clear in cases like his. He leaned against the door frame heavily, shoulders slumping. It was time to confess his transgressions and repent. 

The problem lay in something Father Michael had always said. Not  _ always remember to count _ for he had done that, all too well. No, it would be to avoid being one of those who came into the booth and repeated the same old sin in a new line.

Heaven help him, and he did mean that, but the act of refusing Dean seemed impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm trying for every two days! D: I hope I can make up for it ^.~ Thanks so much for all the reviews last chapter, I absolutely heart you guys! I'm so glad it's being enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a surprise visit, and makes one himself.

Dean woke up to the sight of a tow truck outside of his house.

In a flash different scenarios ran through his head, mind seizing on the worst; Adam had left after Dean went to bed to hang out with some idiot college friends and gotten in trouble. But logic slid in, his phone had remained silent all night. At the very least, Adam wasn’t harmed.

Tilting his head to see more of the vehicle, he rolled his eyes at seeing the decal along the passenger door.  _ Bobby’s Towing. _ He assumed that the old man had came visiting without announcing himself yet again.

Not that the man in question had to. 

Bobby had pulled his ass out of the fire more than once to help him keep the three brothers together. There were some times in his youth where Dean didn’t think he’d manage and someone would put them into the foster system.

It wasn’t as if nobody suspected what was going on over the years.

Dean pulled on a shirt and jeans, going downstairs and walking out on the porch in his bare feet. Bobby was searching in the passenger side for something.

Upon hearing the door shut the man turned, age showing in the few spaces a big bristly beard wasn’t covering. He wasn’t a huge man, but Bobby had always seemed sturdy and impenetrable to him. 

“Hey boy.” Bobby pulled out a battered tool case that was very familiar. 

Dean nodded at him, eyeing the case. “What’s that?” 

Bobby snorted as he walked up to the porch, clapping Dean’s shoulder as he walked past him. “Don’t recognize it? C’mon, your football playin’ days were over a decade ago, how hard did you get hit?”

He turned and followed him in, glad he saved a beer now so he could crack it open and hand it to the older man. Bobby loved chatting over a beer. Dean shrugged as he pulled out a chair and glanced at the box now on the kitchen table.

“I recognize it. Just wondering why you brought it. Are you spring cleaning or something?”

“Naw.” Bobby took a swig. “You’re gonna need it.”

“I have tools. And for what?” Dean couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known Bobby. He was a friend of their father’s, and he ended up being a much better guardian.

The other man took a long look at him as he drank. Finally he set the beer can down. “You didn’t see my truck.”

Something about the way he said it was at odds with how straightforward Bobby was. Blunt and sometimes even unkind, if he thought the situation called for it.

So Dean got out of the seat and walked out the front door, letting the old screen door bounce closed as he made his way down the path. Once the full picture came into view, a second of rage splintered deep in his chest. He was back in the kitchen in seconds, struggling to calm his breathing down.

“What the fuck?”

Bobby had been waiting for him, staring hard with both hands resting on his knees. “I brought it back for you.”

“Why?” Dean was struggling to control himself. Not because he’d hurt the other man, but something ugly was growing in his chest. 

“I just thought maybe it was time.”

And then he knew. Sammy must have called him. His brother comes for a short visit and suddenly things were changing. Only Sam would meddle like this, only he would call the older man and come up with such a stupid idea.

“I told you to destroy it.” Dean took a seat, posture ramrod straight. “Sell it, trash it, push it in a river. I don’t care, but get it out of here.”

Bobby rubbed his chin, the coarse hair making a scratchy sound. “Don’t be so damn dramatic. It’s just a car.”

But it wasn’t. It was the car. He knew every inch of that thing, including under the hood because that was the very engine he placed in with his two hands. 

“If it’s just a car,” he said slowly, “then why not get rid of it? It takes up room in your junkyard and it cost you a whole day of work to get down here.”

“Okay, so it’s not just a car. It was your Daddy’s, and he’d want you to have it.”

Dean slammed a fist on the old table, rocking the whole thing so much that the beer fell over.

Both of them stared as the liquid poured out and hit the floor in fizzy splashes.

Bobby gave him one of those looks. “You wasted a perfectly good beer.”

“No, you wasted a perfectly good trip. I don’t care what Sammy said.” Dean knew he’d have to clean it up, just like when his father had been around. “I am fine. I have a good job and I’m paying good money to help Adam throw his whole life away praying to a God that doesn’t give a  _ shit _ what any of us have to say!” 

Bobby didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look intimidated. It was his patient ‘wait for the boy to calm down’ reactions.

“Stop looking at me like that! I hope there’s a hammer in there, because the only thing I’m doing to it, is what I should have done to him. How’s that for ‘ _ what he’d want me to have _ ’?”

Bobby shook his head and looked at the window. “You need to hold it together better than this. I know takin’ care of your brothers has been real hard on you, and you shoulda never had to do it, but you did. You guys used to have real fun in there when your daddy would roll in town.”

Dean made to interrupt, but Bobby held up a hand. 

And he did stop, years of ingrained habit kicking in.

“Not Adam, bless his soul and momma’s. But you and Sam, you’d just climb in there and loved that thing like you would’ve a real home. John wasn’t a great man by any means, but he’s gone and you’re not.”

A bitter sort of sneer curled his lip, something even after years of walks Dean could not shake the fear and hatred of the man he had to call father. 

John wasn’t a man who used his fists, that would imply he was around long enough to get mad at them. He was just never meant to be a father. In his own words, he was a man who lost the best thing in his life.

Who could compare with that? 

Dean grabbed his jacket and started out the door. 

Bobby didn’t say anything, he knew each of the Winchester’s too long and too well.

He walked past the truck and ignored the black chipped paint of the vehicle, unable to avoid seeing it out the corner of his eye.

The direction he took was different every time. It was to avoid letting his mind wander. Instead, he paid attention to which streets he took, to the small details of individual yards. One was plain and unruly, the next had red rocks framing cement path. One had broken cobblestones and a red and yellow play car that one had to push with their feet.

He never had one of those toys, but they looked cool. Like the vehicles on the Flintstones, which Sammy used to laugh at while eating cereal on Saturday mornings.

He had to let those thoughts go for now. It was still morning and he thought about walking down to the church. But now he wouldn’t have time to get there for the service and he knew it wasn’t a good time.

Dean pulled up Sam’s number on his phone and stared at it for several blocks. In the end he texted Lisa to see what she was doing at the moment.

When she responded that she was arguing with her sisters again, he started to enjoy the cool breeze and individualism of the houses. He sent back that she could always talk to him, he was out and about and not busy.

The text that came back said he could come over if he wanted. She must have misunderstood his invitation to call, or perhaps she didn’t at all.

Dean turned around, knowing the direction to her house all too well. It wasn’t that he had spent much time inside. 

It would take about forty minutes to get there, but Bobby wouldn’t expect him back any time soon. It was day, so nobody would worry.

Since they were exes, he didn’t pick up anything before knocking on her door. There had to be some sense of separation or she would get the wrong impression. Dean didn’t exactly lie during their very brief relationship, but it hadn’t been out of a genuine want to be with her. 

He had been perfectly aware the likely outcome was her breaking up with him from familial pressure. 

Dean was not in the habit of tricking people when it came to dating. Maybe that’s why he tried to be so careful not to fall into being her boyfriend just because it was easy and convenient.

Lisa opened the door, smiling quickly. “I…” she took a step closer to him, shutting the door behind her partially, “I didn’t have any company when we texted.” The apology in her eyes was just a touch frantic.

“Is it your sister?” Dean asked, he remembered nearly everything she had told him about her family.

She grimaced. “Both.” She rubbed the back of her neck uncertainly. “I’m not saying you should go, just that you might want to.” It ended on a miserable little laugh.

Dean pretended to think about this for several long moments. Finally he smiled at her. “That’s up to you. Your older sister never ruined my night, and Charlie always liked me.” 

Lisa shot him a grateful smile back while stepping back. She closed the door once he was inside, lingering in his personal space in the small hallway. 

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel the hopeful way she watched him. They had never been a thing, but hey, she was going through a hard time. People’s behavior changed when events happened. He kept walking down the hall and turned left into the living room.

Grace and Charlie were sitting as far as the seating would allow them, though the older sister clearly wanted to be all up in the other’s space. 

He remembered Grace. She had short blonde hair and pale blue eyes, having inherited her mother’s coloring and handsome bone structure. She was carefully made up and dressed in a beige pantsuit with a vivid green blouse underneath. 

“Dean.” She glowered politely at him. 

Dean never knew it was possible to do that until he met the Cavallo mother and daughter duo months ago. He grinned and winked at her and took a seat right on the middle sofa. “Hey Gracie.” 

“Don’t flirt, it’s uncouth and lowbrow,” she immediately snapped, drawing her sharp shoulders up like hackles.

Charlie snorted from the sofa chair on the other side. She was nearly ten years younger than Grace, and had an easy cheer when she wasn’t stressed out. “Good god. Hey, Dean. Long time no see.”

“It’s been a minute,” he said agreeably. When Lisa appeared in the doorway, face full of exhaustion and uncertainty, he patted the seat next to him.

All this was watched by icy eyes narrowed to slits. But truly being her mother’s daughter meant that it wouldn’t be a silent glare. “Lisa,” Grace started, “really? Mother’s not even in her grave and you’ve taken up with this again?”

Charlie buried her head between her knees and covered it with both hands. 

Lisa looked like she wanted to, but instead pointed out coldly, “Mother would be in her grave if you’d sign the papers.”

“Why don’t  _ you  _ sign off on her going to St. Raphael’s? You  _ know  _ that’s what she would have wanted!” And the lady fell away and the tiger came out. 

“I guess we wouldn’t know, since she didn’t leave a will.” There was only a year-difference between the two eldest sisters, and Lisa had told Dean several times how much she resented being treated like she was a naughty toddler. “And it costs so much more to have the full pony show done there.”

Grace reared back at the reference, hand lying flat over her chest. For a moment it looked like she was speechless, but of course that was a lie. “Money isn’t important here, it’s respect. Respect for the woman she was and the life she led.”

“Exactly,” Charlie muttered under her breath, but nobody heard but him. 

Dean caught her eye.

She looked caught-out before staring at her knees. He guessed she was used to having the luxury of whispering snarky comments to herself. He certainly didn’t care if she did.

“Respect, huh? I thought in this family we buried people where we felt like it.” Now that was a sore point for Lisa, she had spent nearly three hours bitterly venting about it one drunken night. 

Grace rolled her eyes. “Not this again. Our father was a good Catholic man, he should have been buried in their cemetery.”

“But he didn’t want that!” Lisa was the first to yell, which unfortunately meant Grace would be taking the moral high ground. But it was still a brilliant sight, her rage rushing out with the force behind a shattered dam. “He wanted to be buried with Matthew! He saved up for that spot and bought it, it was the one thing he never let her take away from him. But she did, and I’ll be damned if Matthew doesn’t have at least one parent lying there next to him. And if it’s her,” she sneered, “so fucking be it.”

Grace watched all this with a pinched face, nothing reaching past the wall of offended dignity she erected. When the words hung in the air she stood up. “You’re hysterical. I will have my way in the end. And Celeste, you---” her mouth snapped shut at the muffled ring tone.

For a moment nobody spoke, just looked at each other.

“Damn,” Dean muttered, fishing out his ringing and vibrating phone, checking the name. Sam, of course. “Family,” he said apologetically while getting up and walking to the next room and whispering. “Hey Sam.”

“I’ll just go. We will revisit this matter when..”

He missed the last part of the sentence because his brother started talking. “Hi Dean! Just calling during a break to see how everything was. Adam said he started classes last night at the church?”

Giving up on listening to Grace basically stomping out, he went out the back door and sat on the porch. “Everything’s fine. Adam liked it.”

“Uhm, was that the tv in the background?”

“Yep, just sitting on the couch.” Dean lied partly because of course Sam had talked to Bobby. His little brother liked to ‘catch’ him in small white lies, seemed to make him feel like he knew Dean better than anyone.

To be fair, though, that was actually true.

Sam snorted. “No, you’re not. I know you. Are you at some girl’s house?” He sounded disdainful, but there was a thread of hope too.

“Yeah. Lisa’s.” He figured he couldn’t make up a name, especially because it was so quiet inside. Someone might be listening. “We’re friends now.”

“And I suppose she needs a friend right now?” Sam asked slowly, trying to feel him out. But it had nothing to do with romantic tendencies, and they both knew it.

Dean shrugged. “Sure.”

 

_ I suppose you think you’re just going to swoop in while I’m stuck here? _

_ I do have certains plans, yeah. _

_ No you don’t, young man. I will have my way in the end. _

 

He grinned to himself in pleasure. Not Cas-pleasure, that was a whole different beast. This thrummed in the back of his head, causing his muscles to relax like he’d just taken a shot of good scotch.

“Dean. Dean? Don’t get lost. You’ve got to go home, talk with Bobby, okay?” Sam was sounding worried now, apparently he’d been talking while Dean thought back.

He pulled himself back and sighed. “Sure, I’ll go home. Call me later.” He hung up and hit silent on his phone this time before heading back in.

Charlie was sitting by herself in the living room, hands clasped and wearing a strained smile. “Hey Dean. She’s in the bathroom, she’ll be back out soon.”

He nodded and took a seat, looking about the place. It was still mostly unchanged, except there were a few new pictures of her son Ben on the mantel and a brand-new hockey stick in the corner. It still had the tag dangling from the handle.

The soft buzzing in his head made him smile warmly at Lisa once she re-entered the room with red eyes and flushed cheeks. This was just what Dean needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh. Awkward silence of the person who didn't call back after a few wonderful dates. So maybe I was optimistic on my update schedule by a lot *cough* but I had a lot of things come up. So here's some Thanksgiving cheer, hope you all are seeing family or friends or someone important! That's not in the cards for me this year :( but eat some yummy yummy turkey for me!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes a house call.

“I’m passing on a Blessing to you.” Father Gabriel announced with sunny generosity.

Castiel placed the Breviary down, regarding the other priest closely. 

He had been holed up in the one place that nobody usually bothered him, the utility room. 

“Did you?” he asked flatly, looking up from his position on a specially placed wooden chair. Though, he supposed if he wanted a guarantee of being undisturbed, he should have stayed in his room.

He nodded happily. “She wants her house blessed. I thought of you because she’s one of your volunteers.” 

Now that was unusual. While Gabriel disparage Crowley for favoring the parishioners with money, he himself had a noted preference for the young women. 

Not that Castiel thought Gabriel was acting with impropriety, but the impression was there. 

“But she asked you,” he shrugged. He was not offended that a volunteer did not ask him, Gabriel lead the morning Sunday mass and was popular otherwise.

“And I’m passing it on. Here’s the address and she’ll be expecting you at ten.” He dropped a folded piece of paper on the book in Castiel’s lap.

He frowned as the door closed, leaving him alone again. He smoothed it down and read the handwritten note signed by one Fran Marshall. That explained it. Gabriel may enjoy the younger woman, but undoubtedly not an older one who had a propensity to talk and talk.

Castiel did not judge. Small mentions of her past and certain turns of phrases helped him understand two things; one, she had been physically abused by her husband, second, now that he was  _ gone _ her life had suddenly opened up again.

Of course she wanted the house Blessed. He could do that for her. 

Drawing himself up and stretching for a good while, he detoured to place the book in his rooms, then fixed a small snack of toast and peanut butter. 

Castiel had visited several few houses in his time here for Blessing, as well the few community events that he was invited to.

All the rest of big events were held in the church. Weddings, funerals, baptisms and holiday events. When he first arrived, it felt like he was gaining an extended family through his work for the Lord.

He hadn’t realized how much it changed until he was walking out the front doors into the semi-cloudy day. How long had it been since he made a house call?

The air was muggy, cut by the occasional breeze. He ran his fingers through his hair, checking the directions again.

Friday was a good day to fill social obligations. The reason he had been isolating himself lately was...well, complicated. Thursday left him relieved that his attendance was back to normal. No intense green eyes staring at him from the back, no husky greeting in the intimate darkness of the confessional booth. 

He  _ should  _ feel relieved that Dean had gotten bored of toying with a weak priest and moved on to other stimulations. It wasn’t a battle that Castiel had been entirely sure he could win, weak as his flesh was.

Now he could, in good conscience, make the long walk to St. Jude’s Catholic church to make his confession there. Gabriel had mentioned once that he preferred to go there, especially since his other option was Crowley.

Castiel could not imagine confessing to the man either, though he didn’t dislike him. But he could not say he liked him either.

Castiel had never visited Mrs. Marshall’s house before, but even he recognized the recent improvements. There were faint lines between the sod and the pale blue siding of the house that were too perfect to not be new. Fresh purple and pink flowers lined the siding. 

Fran was sitting on the edge of the yard in shorts and a short-sleeve blouse.She waved upon seeing him, wide brimmed hat swaying over her large sunglasses. 

“Hello, Father! I’m so glad you showed up.” She got to her feet slowly, brushing off the dirt on her knees and peeling off the gardening gloves. 

“Fran, it is good to see you.” He looked at the clean windows and scrubbed brick base. “I see a lot of work has been done.”

“Oh yes,” she beamed at him. “It’s been amazing. I feel like it’s a whole new house. The inside has some work, but we’ll get there.” 

He nodded, taking inventory of the large tools resting against the side of the house. “Did you have a particular item you wish to be Blessed, or an altar?”

“You could bless me.” A new voice came from the other side of the house. Dean strolled languidly toward them, wearing soft and old jeans that fit his hips and thighs like a second skin.

Castiel looked away from the sight, embarrassed he had been staring so inappropriately. 

The other man seemed to not only notice but was happy about it, throwing him a wink as he stopped near them.

Fran laughed happily, waving a hand. “You’re so funny, Mr. Winchester. Father Castiel, this man is the reason I came back to church. We were talking about what the house needed, and he said I should concentrate on what I needed to like self-esteem and religion. And he was definitely right.”

Castiel made himself look back at Dean, head cocking to the side as he puzzled that one out. Had Dean been a member of the church, the prompting would have made perfect sense. 

Was the addition about religion her own, or did Dean actually use those words?

“I love your sermons.” Dean held out one hand, wearing a slight smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “They really touch me.”

Fighting off the urge to blush, Castiel shook his hand and released it first. Going red-faced would be an indication something was amiss to even the most oblivious person. 

For her part, though, Fran was looking around the yard in admiration and not paying attention to them at all.

“I’m glad to hear,” Castiel said quietly. 

Dean leaned over as if to fix a piece of sod, but when he straightened he was very close for just a moment. “I missed you,” he murmured before backing up and saying aloud. “I just have some things in the back to finish up, I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“Oh no, don’t be silly,” Fran protested. She smiled gratefully at him as he walked back around the house. “He’s a real gem.” She turned back to Castiel, beckoning him to follow her into the house. 

He didn’t say anything to that, but rather tried to seize upon another topic quickly. “I’m sorry, did you say you had an item in mind?”

“I was hoping you could do the whole home? I know it’s not new, but..” She bit her lip, earlier confidence oozing away. 

Castiel looked around the taped up wallpaper and the hardwood floor that was so worn no amount of sanding could save it. “Normally,” he started gently, “everyone living in the house has to be present for a new home blessing.”

“Oh. Well, my daughter is at preschool. It has a summer program, you see, and she really enjoys the social time.” She looked less nervous now. 

“Ahh. I understand. It is important to look forward, especially after a death.” 

Fran looked at him in surprise, then it cleared quickly. “He’s not...I mean, it’s easier to just say gone, but he’s not dead.”

All the half-formed thoughts floating at the back of his head disappeared. It was a divorce, of course. He shook his head at himself for how paranoid he’d been lately. 

Considering how much he prided himself on giving people the benefit of the doubt, his opinion of Dean was clearly misconstrued in this regard. 

“I apologize. Perhaps we can schedule one when she might be home. Is Monday acceptable?” 

She nodded as she made her way to the kitchen. “Of course, Father. Um, would you like something to drink?”

“That would be nice. It has been quite hot recently.” The day wasn’t particularly hot, but walking down in all the layers he wore did work up a lingering heat. Without meaning to, he looked at the kitchen window to the backyard.

She followed his gaze and grabbed three tall glasses and poured lemonade and ice inside. “He’s been working hard all morning and I haven’t even offered him anything.” She turned her face away, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. “Sorry Father, I’ve been such a watering pot lately.”

Castiel reached out or the glass slowly. “Why don’t I take this out to him?” She would need a few moments to regain her composure. A few minutes, he amended silently, as she hiccuped.

“Okay, thank you.” She picked up a tissue box and took a seat at the table and kept her head turned away. “Please say sorry to him for me.” 

Castiel cast her another concerned look, fingers falling short of the glass. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked seriously. 

She shook her head hard and quick. “I’ll be just a moment. He’s probably very thirsty.” She fell silent, only the sound of rustling from plucking the tissues coming from that side of the kitchen.

Picking up the glass resolutely, he found the back door with its torn screen and left to give her a few moments of peace. He didn’t see Dean. 

Looking around, he started toward the side of the house after hearing a long drawn out scrape.

“Shit!” 

That was definitely Dean. 

He walked toward the shed on the side of the house, between the house and tall wooden fence. “Dean, are you all right?” 

“Cas? Yeah, just trying to get this lawn mower back in here.” 

He could see the problem even before reaching the open door. It was a very tiny shed, barely big enough to a lawn mover. Peering in, he noticed it only had a few things in it, not even enough room for shelves. 

“She requested I bring you lemonade. She said sorry for not offering it earlier.” There wasn’t enough to look at. His gaze kept straying to Dean as he bent over the lawnmower, noting the jeans really did mould to the back of his thighs and bottom. 

There was no excuse to stare, and yet here he was.

Dean finally turned, taking the drink and draining half in one go. His throat moved while he swallowed and it was mesmirizing. 

When he finished he took stock of their surroundings and where they were standing. “She  _ sent _ you out, huh? You can just admit you came out to see me.” 

Castiel cleared his throat, wishing he hadn’t stepped inside the shed. Wishing he didn’t want to leave. “I wouldn’t lie.”

“No,” Dean closed the space between them, touching the line of his buttons in a weaving line. He gazed at Castiel’s mouth before dragging his eyes back up. “You’re so good.” 

His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. It made it hard to think. Because he had thought of many appropriate responses to give this time.

Dean licked his own lips, but not moving forward yet. They were close enough it could happen with one purposeful sway. 

Finally it clicked. 

Dean was letting him back away. If he wanted to.

The problem was that he didn’t want to.

Castiel closed his eyes as fingers brushed over his eyelids, along his cheeks to skim along his lower lip. But he made himself open his eyes to look into the clear green eyes. There was no escape in his own mind.

Dean kissed him, spreading his palms along Castiel’s shoulders. He did nothing more than press for a long time, tasting of sharp citrus and sugar. It intensified when their tongues slid together, the coolness of Dean’s mouth heating rapidly as their mouths crushed together.

The sound of distant knocking startled Castiel so badly he bit down and the taste of coppery tang mingled with the lemony sweet. They broke apart, Dean wiping his mouth with one hand and glancing at the pink tinged wetness.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered, trying to not focus on the new taste. 

But then Dean looked at him and it was scary how blank his face looked. Suddenly Castiel found himself pinned against the cheap metal walls of the shed, mouth invaded roughly.

It was impossible to do anything but hold onto Dean’s shoulders for balance, heat throbbing everywhere they touched. He moaned around the thrusting tongue and tried to get him closer.

But Dean was disentangling, smoothing down his hair and adjusting his jeans quite deliberately. He threw a wink at him. “Someone’s at the door.” 

Castiel watched him retreat, touching his own tender mouth. He tried to do something with his hair, but couldn’t judge if he was making it worse. He never fussed with it.

Shamefully checking to see if his own arousal showed, he grabbed the half-empty lemonade and let himself in through the back door.

Voices floated through the small kitchen, Fran was in her doorway speaking to a man. Or two. 

Policemen.

Castiel froze a moment, a surge of panic flooding his chest and tasting like blood in his mouth. No...that was Dean. He opened his eyes and walked into the living room.

“..haven’t seen him since I reported him missing,” she was saying in uneasy shrill tone. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the side of the door, blocking their way in but unconsciously so.

“This is his, isn’t it?” The younger cop was asking, his tone mild and sympathetic.

She hunched her shoulders. “He had a hat like that. Um, does it have a tear inside the brim?”

There was a rustle of plastic and if Castiel leaned his head just right, he could see the edge of a clear bag and the gloved fingers of the cop. 

“Yeah, like it was pulled loose,” he confirmed. 

Fran moaned like an stabbed animal, hands flying to her mouth. She broke out into low muffled sobs, still making that horrible keening sound in the back of her throat.

“Ma’am, can we come in?” A different voice asked, older and harder.

She only nodded and stepped inside, stiffening when Castiel came forward to lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, err, Father,” the younger cop stuttered a bit upon seeing him. He was the one holding a bag with an old blue ballcap. He wasn’t immediately familiar, but it wasn’t hard to tell that Castiel was a priest. 

The other cop was in his mid-forties, gray dominating his short beard. The white peppered streak over his temples were almost too straight to be natural, but he didn’t seem like the sort of man to artificially color his hair. “Are we interrupting something?” 

Dean came down the stairs at that point, a huge wrench resting on his shoulder. “Hey, the plumbing is...oh, sorry.” 

Both cops looked up and blinked. One supposed it was a strange plateau to walk into, a woman with not only a handyman but also a priest. 

“What is going on?” The younger cop, Officer James by the tag, asked with simple confusion. 

Dean stopped at the bottom of the steps, affecting an air of obtuseness. “I’m with Harvelle’s Handyman company. Name’s Dean.” He slowly placed the wrench on the side table, brushing off his hands. 

They both looked at Castiel.

“I’m not a handyman,” he blurted out.

“No?” The older cop said dryly, looking more amused than wary now. His tag read Officer Mason, which seemed fitting.

Never having gotten in the habit of cursing, Castiel wished he had a strong enough word to internally hurl at himself. “Fran attends my church and is a volunteer there. I am here to Bless her altar.”

Mason raised an eyebrow, but James nodded at him. Must be a Catholic boy, or exceedingly well-read.

“Oh, my mom had our priest do that.” James said to his partner, nodding. 

Mason seemed to let that go as he looked at Fran. She had stopped crying, but the soft skin around her eyes was puffy and pink. “Ma’am,” he began, “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

Even Castiel thought that that’s exactly what they had been trying to achieve.

“We just found his hat. That could really mean anything.”

“Right,” James added nicely, “some people get rid of old stuff when they leave a home. I’m not saying he’s not coming back, but it sounded like he was pretty mad when he left.” 

Fran absently touched her cheek, not seeming to notice the small move. 

Everyone else did, though.

James looked at the bag, lowering it. “We just wanted to know if you’ve heard from him. If you hear anything, call us ma’am.” Just as he stepped away, his partner looked at the huge wrench sitting on the table again.

He tilted his head, looking over both men before directing his attention to Fran. “You’ve been getting lots of work done. New paint job, new yard, new handyman.”

Fran looked about as confused as Castiel felt. He was obviously getting at something. 

Dean suddenly spoke. “Actually, this is part of Church charity. Father suggested it because her old man left them in the lurch. We’re only charging her somethin’ cause my boss doesn’t do anything for free.” 

He fished out his wallet and held out a card. It had a grease stain along the sides, but James still took it.

“Ellen Harvelle?” he blanched a bit.

“Yep,” Dean grinned. 

Mason looked at the card over his partner’s shoulder and squinted at Castiel. “Yeah? This is all part of a church thing?”

He blinked. “Yes.” There was no point in pretending in his own head that he was answering truthfully because of semantics. Castiel knew he was lying.

The cop waited to see if there was more explanation, then looked at his partner. 

James nodded. “The church helps out when a parishioner is having hard luck.”

Fran, who had been standing there like a shell-shocked lump, she had seemed to realize something about the questions. She nodded dumbly when he brought up calling the station again if she heard anything from her husband.

Mason cast one more look at the other men in the living room before nodding at her and they were gone. 

Everything was silent until Fran clasped her hands and turned to them with a tremulous smile. “I just baked cookies, if anyone wants one?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas makes another house visit.

For his part, Dean was enjoying the tall glass of lemonade and sugar cookies. It was a hot day and he spent most of it working outside.

Cas sat on the other side of the small wood table in the kitchen, barely nibbling at lone treat in front of him. Fran leaned against the counter, gaze constantly wandering.

Her happy hostess face was crumbling at the edges, but she was trying her best. “Are the cookies good?”

“Delicious and chewy,” Dean reassured her, despite having already complimented them. 

She didn’t hear this anymore than the first, chewing on her thumbnail. 

Well, he tried. 

With a shrug, he turned his attention to the other man. “Cas.”

The priest was in deep thought, the sound of his name startled him so much he nearly knocked over his drink. It was still full. “Yes, Dean?”

“I'm going to put away my equipment now.” He leaned over to touch the back of Cas's hand before getting to his feet. As he passed Fran, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Thanks. I’ll be back.”

She nodded at him, thoughts a million miles away still.

Dean whistled as he cleaned up outside, admiring the progress he made as of yet. Ellen probably wouldn’t go for interior work at the same discount, but that hardwood floor needed some serious maintenance. 

When he passed near the kitchen window he could hear the deep voice of Cas soothing her worries away. 

Yeah, that’s what Dean had tried to do the other day, but he wasn’t good with all that talking stuff. They had different strengths, like any good team.

When he walked back inside and scrubbed his hands in the kitchen sink, he heard it.

Whispers. 

Curious, he kept the water running and padded silently to the bathroom door. He pressed his ear against the wood. 

“...and these are my sins…” 

Tilting his head, Dean listened for a few moments more. What was he doing, confessing to himself? Could a priest do that?

Admittedly, he hadn’t given a great deal of thought to what Cas thought about all this. But Dean couldn’t just let him go.

By the time Cas came back out Fran had already thanked Dean again and set up a time for him to return. 

She didn’t have to be there while he worked actually, but he preferred it that way. It was nice to chat with her and see how she was getting happier. 

Like the pleasant haze of having a few beers.

Dean paused by the front door, waiting while Cas made his goodbyes a bit later. 

When the other man turned around and saw him, he froze.

“Good thing there’s no candle behind you, huh?” Dean grinned and gestured. “C’mon, I need to get cleaned up.”

Cas came down the steps while staring at him, puzzled and a bit wary. “Come on?” 

“Yeah, get in.” He chuckled as he pulled out his keys and opened the passenger side before walking around the old truck. It wasn’t pretty, but with all the stuff he hauled around on the regular it didn’t need to be.

By the time he climbed in, Cas was already sitting on the passenger side and looking around for the seatbelt. 

Dean helped out by unwedging it from between the seat and back, sliding it across his lap for him. 

That got a little jump in response. 

He started the car with a satisfied air. Yeah, Cas reacted to things with such fucking abandon, it was unbelievably hot.

“So, got any brothers or sisters?” 

“One older brother.” Cas was staring at him again, losing some of the tension from before. That was good. He was still learning that he could relax around Dean. His wariness was easy to understand, the man had been surrounded by shells nearly his whole life.

“Yeah? He was a real hard ass?” 

“No. Michael was strict, but did the best he could.”

Ah, the words of many an adult that couldn’t bring themselves to say their parent or whatever sucked. He got it, people were trained to feel grateful for every little scrap they got. 

As if taking care of a child wasn’t just the right thing to do. 

“I get that. You just seem like the type of kid who had to mind their p’s and q’s all the time.”

“Well, I did go to Catholic school.”

Ahh, of course. He made a considering nod as he glanced at the other man.

Cas had his hands folded neatly in his lap just between the thighs. He was looking out the side window, occasionally licking his lips. And that posture was so straight any grandmother would praise it.

“A lot of kids who go to that type of school hate it.” 

“I didn’t. It was very structured and easy, all you had to do was work hard and follow the instructions. That part never bothered me.”

“What part did?”

Cas looked at him quickly, confused. 

“You said  _ that _ part never bothered you. Which one did?”

The priest blinked before relaxing. “I phrased it incorrectly. I liked everything about my school.”

Dean let that go. They had plenty of time to pull Cas out of his denial. He wished he had taken a longer route now, but he really wanted that shower. “You like following instructions? Cause I mean, I can work with that.” 

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, so oblivious.

He pulled up in his driveway and parked, then leaned close to Cas. “I’ll be more than happy to tell you how I want you.” He moved closer, nearly brushing Cas’s jaw as he spoke. “I can start right now.”

Yeah, Cas got it now. 

His widened blue eyes were so gorgeous, the sexiest he’d ever seen. “I didn’t mean that.” But the rapidly beating pulse at his neck said that now he was thinking about it and was getting hot. 

But instead of pushing it, Dean opened the car door and got out, smirking to himself. 

He could tease a little. It took this long just to find another person. No need to rush through it all, as difficult as the waiting was. But after years of fooling around with bodies, good god he wanted to sink into Cas.

The other man followed him at an artificial distance, looking around as Dean unlocked the door.

It wasn’t some kitschy old lady house with doilies and glass figurines, but Dean was pretty proud of his home. He made sure everything was clean and well-maintained so his brothers felt like they could invite their friends. Heck, the kitchen counters were marble.

A few years back they had some customer who got new counters put in and didn’t care how they disposed of the old ones. Ellen offered and he installed them with a bit of work. Nice ones too, black with veins of white. 

Everything was cheaper when you could do it yourself. Landing the homescaping job in high school had been the best thing that could’ve happened for him. Sometimes things didn’t go right, cause that was life, so he learned long ago to just be happy when things did.

It occurred to him that they both had chosen austere lifestyles. People attached too much importance on things anyway, choosing frivolity over functionality.

“I’m gonna go shower, I’ll be back.” He left Cas looking around their living room, pretty sure that the priest wasn’t going to snoop. There wasn’t much to find anyway.

It felt good to let the hot spray take off the first layer of sweat and dirt. Then he took a scrubby brush to his skin and nails to get the rest off. He sang in the shower while getting all soapy.

Normally he didn’t get all gussied up. After drying off, he brushed his teeth and ran some gel through his short hair. Couldn’t hurt.

Grabbing a stain and rip-free pair of jeans, he jogged back down the stairs to see Cas sitting at the table with a bottle of water from the fridge. He felt good good that Cas already knew he wasn’t just a guest. 

And that those fantastic blue eyes rested on his bare chest for too long to be casual. The glance was quick, but Castiel licked his lips. He did that when he got nervous or aroused. 

“Why did you lie to the police?” Cas asked in a low voice. 

Dean grabbed some water for himself, thinking about that for a moment. "I had to say something. They only came around to see if she offed her husband you know.” The cops knew whose cap it was before ever showing up on her doorstep. 

The problem with smaller towns was the cops didn’t have much to do and had to invent shit. In his opinion.

“Are you sure?” He frowned.

Dean twisted off the cap and got a few good gulps in. “Oh yeah. ‘Abandoned’ wife with old bruises on her face who is turning her life around?  _ And _ a freshly dug up yard? That’s scandal, man, their whole month would be made if it was a murder.” 

Cas looked shocked. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

That got a short laugh. “I’m sure church is no different. Don’t they all go abuzz when something dirty happens?” He checked out the other man’s rueful face and telling silence. “Exactly. And she doesn’t need that right now.”

Cas just sat there thinking about that, looking good as sin in his all-black outfit and trouser-clad knees spread and visible. Something about looking at Cas made him think positively poetic.  

Apparently Cas was thinking about other things, because he was doing that puckered mouth movement he did when thinking big thoughts. “There were other ways to give the police the impression of innocence without lying.” He took a deep breath. “I lied too.”

Ahhh.

Dean sat down with his water and tried his hand at reassuring him. “It wasn’t really a lie. You did suggest it long before she got any work done.”

Cas squinted in thought, lips pursing again. “Wh--I don’t...I didn’t.”

“You did. You suggested I help the families with stuff.”

The priest looked blankly at him. He was really adorable like that, black tufts of hair sticking up and looking so intently at him. Cas was a thinker, often turning over things in his head so much that sometimes he missed what was actually going on around him. 

That was such a complement to Dean’s run-with-it attitude. They really would make a great team.

“Wait,” Cas whispered, long fingers curling over his knees as he leaned forward. “No.”

Dean shrugged. “I mean, it’s not much. But being around them, it feels really good. Like they can finally mend.” He’d wanted to share that with Cas for some time, couldn’t wait to do it actually. 

But the other man was just sitting there, nearly as pale as the white band around his neck. “He didn’t just disappear.” His gravelly voice dragged over the words as if it pained him.

Dean snorted. “No, course not. Guys like that, they don’t just leave behind what’s  _ theirs. _ No, they stay till it’s broken and their children  _ always _ go down with them.” Dean hadn’t meant to spit out the words with such force. He took a deep breath. “Hey, drink your water. It’ll help.”

Cas looked like he was having a hard time getting in a deep breath. 

So he got up, maybe to rub the black-clad shoulder, comfort him a little. 

But Cas jerked back so hard that the table scraped against his newly polished floor. 

At first Dean was annoyed, but heck, that’s why he rounded the bottoms of the chairs to prevent deep markings. “Woah,” he held up a hand. “don’t hurt yourself there.”

Cas dropped his head in his hands, making a sound like a laugh and a groan. The bad kind of groan. “I’m sitting with a...a...murderer.” The word barely tumbled out of his lips.

Dean stiffened, trying not to frown. He’d forgive Cas, cause if they saw eye to eye on everything then they wouldn’t be such a good fit. “Hey, I’ve never killed anyone.” 

Cas looked confused for a moment, cautious, and just a touch of hopeful. 

“Bodies, man, they’re not real. I’d never hurt you or my brothers. Or a kid,” he added the last part, just in case Cas thought that.

The sickened shock reappeared on Cas’s face like a cage slamming down. Sure it couldn’t be because he took down a few nasty shells.

“Other people  _ matter _ .” Cas said, emphasizing the last point almost desperately.

Okay, maybe it was.

Dean got up to check his cupboards, pulling down a bag of rice and several different seasonings. The freezer had frozen chicken, but that would take forever. 

Oh hey, he had some hamburger meat thawed. 

People loved his burgers, which was pretty awesome when he had hosted his brother’s birthday parties and shit in the past. 

“What are you doing?” came the question behind him. He’d never heard Cas use that tone before, like he was holding a bundle of broken glass and was too afraid to move.

Dean held up a bag of buns he pulled out the roundabout cupboard. “I’m making us something to eat. I hate talking on an empty stomach, don’t you?” No answer, so he turned back around and began to work the spices into the red coils of meat.

“You said it was self-defense.”

He worked the meat into round balls, measured the size of two against each other. “Defense. I corrected myself.”

“So, so…” Cas floundered for a moment. “If you saved her life, how come she doesn’t know you?”

He added another ball, what the heck, he was hungry. “I didn’t do it near her, Cas. That’s the stuff nightmares are made of.” 

And she was better off this way. The uncertainty might linger, but soon she’d start looking out her window less and less until the only time she thought about him was random and distant.

It was quiet for a bit as he put a flat cast iron griddle over the fire and searched for the garlic and oil.

“Was he going to kill her?”

Dean checked on the man over his shoulder. Cas looked uncertain and a bit scared, like a child who was about the learn Krampus was just as real as old Saint Nick. “Shit, probably. I dunno. Do you want ketchup, mustard, cheese, the whole shebang?”

The sound Cas made wasn’t really a yes or a no, so he grabbed all of it to stick on the table.

He placed a ball of meat in the hot oil and used a small cast iron to smash the sphere flat. "Does it really bother you that much?”

“Yes.” His tone was slow, like he was explaining simple addition to a grown up. 

Dean sighed, counting in his head to thirty till he flipped the burger. “Why?” He wasn’t stupid, he got other people got kinda mad or panicked at the thought of death-by-force. 

But Cas was a mystery to him, who knew how he thought?

It was silent again. 

Dean finished the first burger and put it on a lightly toasted bun bottom before whisking the plate in front of Cas rather proudly. Crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside, seasoned carefully with his special blend. “You cannot beat a Winchester burger.” He winked and turned around to start his.

“Life is sacred, Dean.” Cas finally said.

“So’re those,” he pointed to Cas’s plate, “so start enjoying it.”

The look he got back clearly said Cas was reaching the end of his tether. But Dean was enjoying the newfound excitement of seeing his priest irritated. 

Cas grabbed a piece of cheese and squirted just a dab of ketchup on the middle of the patty before covering it with the top bun. Then he took a big bite, the soft crunch like music to Dean’s ears.

It was a messy burger, Dean was sure he could sit for hours watching Cas lick his lips. He had to remind himself to not seem like some horny teenager trying to lift his girl’s skirt every second they were alone.

But Dean was impatient to be with someone that wasn't  _ empty _ inside. 

He  _ would _ wait though. As long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG almost halfway through guys. I'm excited! 
> 
> I know it's holiday time and everyone is super busy, but don't forget to take a break and take care of yourself!
> 
> Also, yanno, feel free to drop thoughts or comments, whathaveyou. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be updated every few days on average! More tags will be added as chapters are posted. That being said, there are no triggers via Graphic Violence (not Graphic anyway), and no noncon or dubcon. I'm simply referencing smutty sexy tags will come as they do, because there will be that, definitely! Fic is based off a book (mine, to prevent later confusion).  
> I love to hear what you think if you've got the time! :D


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